


playing from the same hand

by brokendrums



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Touring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2014-09-16
Packaged: 2018-02-17 14:06:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2312309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokendrums/pseuds/brokendrums
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Niall and Zayn grow closer on the European leg of the Where We Are Tour.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <i>Zayn hums again, low from the base of his chest and Niall’s hand skims down Zayn’s arm six more times, Niall counts them slowly to match his rhythm, before it feels a bit more natural.</i></p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <i>"Don’t think Perrie’ll make Paris,” Zayn finally says. And that’s that.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	playing from the same hand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elliebird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliebird/gifts).



> Based on a prompt from [ loey ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/loey) for the [ Ziall Fic Exchange ](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/ziallficexchange) who asked for some angst set during the WWA tour and for Niall and Zayn gravitating towards each other. I hope this hits the spot. 
> 
> Buckets of love and gratitude to [ threeturn ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/threeturn) for the amazing beta work. Any and all mistakes are my own. 
> 
> Title from Changing - Sigma feat. Paloma Faith

The first Niall hears about it is in Sweden, three whole days after they’ve been back on tour. Zayn climbs into his bunk, all elbows and knees as he settles down beside him, curled into the smallest ball he can manage. 

“What’s wrong?” Niall asks, cutting straight to the point because he was maybe going to have a nap and Zayn’s too pointy to sleep beside in their narrow bunks. He wouldn’t mind if he had a whole bed to spread out across. It makes Niall’s breathing hitch higher and he swallows around it, trying to mask the anxious throb of being boxed in by clearing his throat. 

“Nothing,” Zayn says and it’s muffled from where he’s got a hoody zipped up to his nose, chin tucked into the collar. Niall fights the urge to roll his eyes. They could be having this non-conversation out in the lounge area, where there’s fresh air and you know, space. 

“Ok,” Niall responds and turns onto his back, spreading himself out as wide as he can so Zayn can get the hint and fuck off to his own bunk. He’s not sure if Zayn even has a bunk here because while last year things were spread more evenly between the two buses, so far, on this tour Zayn’s been very much on the other bus and Niall’s made a home here on this one. And even if Zayn is bunkless for the night, it doesn’t mean he can muscle into Niall’s. 

Zayn doesn’t budge though - if anything he wriggles closer until he can hook a foot around Niall’s ankle to keep him on the bunk. Harry would’ve given up by now and Niall tries not to think too much about the fact that Niall wouldn’t mind someone like Harry cuddling up with him, because it happens so often anyway. This, Zayn pushing his forehead against Niall’s shoulder and the way his aftershave doesn’t smell familiar anymore, doesn’t happen all that often now. It feels foreign and something twists in his gut because it _shouldn’t_.

“You homesick already?” Niall asks. If he isn’t allowed his nap, he’s not going to let Zayn either.

Zayn hums. “No,” he mutters, and when Niall turns round he can see Zayn’s eyes, wide and round and maybe shiny but Niall can’t really tell in the shadowy light. 

“Missing Pez then?” Niall asks. The way Zayn’s shoulders lock up is hard to miss. Niall reaches over his chest to pat at Zayn’s arm. “Nah, don’t worry, you can fly her out soon. Take her out on the Paris dates or something, that’d be nice, wouldn’t it?”

Zayn doesn’t answer and Niall pats at his shoulder again, feeling the softness of his hoody. He must’ve got his mum to wash it during break because Zayn always forgets the softener. Showering at his house is shit because his towel scrapes half your skin off.

“Walk her up the Eiffel Tower,” Niall keeps going, Zayn’s tense shoulders melting with every rub of Niall’s fingers. “It’s supposed to be cool up there. Don’t think I’d manage the lift though. Too many people crammed in together.”

“It’s got see-through glass,” Zayn mumbles, quirking an eyebrow. Niall shrugs. 

“That’s nearly worse, imagine being pressed up against one of those walls and thinking the edges were going to fall off or something.” Niall shudders. “Splat.”

Zayn laughs once and it sounds hollow, even all wrapped up in the sleepy warmth of Zayn’s voice. 

“Need someone to hold my hand, I think,” Niall says. He can feel Zayn’s lips on his throat. Zayn’s arm slides over Niall’s belly and he hooks his fingers into Niall’s thumb. “You could rent it out, I suppose, do a big grand gesture?” 

Zayn’s quiet for a moment and Niall’s sure he’s already asleep, like back when they used to do this and Zayn would curl around Niall all lanky just after his growth spurt and Niall was still a few inches shorter. 

“I never knew you were such a romantic,” Zayn muses quietly surprising Niall so much that he snorts. 

“Nah, not really.” Niall shrugs and Zayn’s head jostles against him. “You know me, not the wooing sort.”

Zayn hums again, low from the base of his chest and Niall’s hand skims down Zayn’s arm six more times, Niall counts them slowly to match his rhythm, before it feels a bit more natural. 

“Don’t think Perrie’ll make Paris,” Zayn finally says. And that’s that.

*

Zayn mopes all the way into Denmark too, but Niall’d been filled in by then. Quiet whispers from Liam who thinks he’s doing Zayn a favour by spreading news of his break-up like gossip.

Niall’s not sure how he’s to react. Harry gives Zayn a wide berth, like arguing with him over whether rhubarb or apple tart is better at dinner times before disappearing until the show. Liam wraps him in cotton wool, pulls him into hugs when he passes him in the hallway on the way to breakfast and curls into him during band meetings in Paul’s room at noon. Louis gives him hard, friendly punches on the arm to try and get him out of his funk and sneaks him away only to come back red eyed and smiling slow. 

Niall, though, Niall doesn’t know what to do. He thinks if this was last year he’d ignore it, do something silly to cheer him up. Or he’d maybe grab a beer and set it in front of him and ask him if he wants to talk about it. Offer some inexperienced advice about getting back on the horse and plenty more fish in the sea. 

None of that settles right with him now. This Niall doesn’t have the patience to hear all about it, he doesn’t want to see Zayn sad or listen to him cry. It’s hard being sympathetic when there’s a tiny, very guilty part of him that isn’t sad for Zayn at all. 

It’s something he’s noticed the past few days, with every renewed touch from Zayn and every small smile he sends him across the room. That fluttery feeling that comes along with all the attention from Zayn. He’s missed it, long months of break with nothing more than a few funny snapchats and the odd text here and there to check in making it feel more stilted between them. It makes Niall hesitate, his reactions to Zayn flooding back second nature, just in case they won’t work now.

They’re backstage, in the massive cavern of steel and concrete that looks the same in whatever country they’re in now. Zayn’s standing by the doorway into the dressing rooms, a hand on the door frame and his shoulders rising high as he tries to catch his breath. He’s wearing a pair of shorts that Niall thought he’d lost months ago and a shirt that belongs to Harry; he’d got it free and forgotten about it as soon as he set it down. Zayn must’ve nabbed it just after then - there’s a woven _HS_ near the collar that gives him away. 

Niall doesn’t say anything, remembers that Zayn’s not normally chatty when he’s been working out, he’d rather sneak out and run laps of the stadium with his headphones rather than race and chat with anyone the whole way round. Niall admires the way he does it because he wouldn’t get half the way round without someone on his tail encouraging him keep it up. 

His hands lifts automatically and he doesn’t even think anything of it as he pushes his finger into Zayn’s chest. The material of his shirt is warm and damp. Then he pushes his finger into the muscle of his chest opposite the first. 

Zayn’s breath catches and Niall looks up, holding his gaze as he drops his hand to Zayn’s midsection, thumb pressing easily into where he’s worked out his belly button is. It feels like something from another time, months ago when this was as easy as one, two, three.

“Boop,” Niall says out loud. Zayn grins at him, eyes going crinkly at the corners and Niall feels his belly erupt, something inflating inside him that buoys him up like a balloon. 

“Y’alright?” Zayn asks lazily, leaning back against the door frame now. Niall’s surprised no one’s told him to move. Stopped him from blocking the only entry into the bowels of the arena. 

“Yeah,” Niall answers honestly and he rubs at his forehead. “Bored.”

He feels the dim sort of memory of guilt settling in his belly at that. His father would wonder how he could be bored with this amount of people around him, with a whole new country to explore right outside their little bubble. He shouldn’t have time to bored, to have nothing to waste his restless energy on. 

Zayn nods and Niall knows that he gets it, he’s one of the few that does.

“Do you want to come back to mine?” Zayn asks and leans forward off the door frame to let someone past. He presses unnecessarily close and Niall could step away if he really wanted to but he doesn’t, he stays rooted, feet locked still. 

This close he can smell the sweat off Zayn’s neck, the heat of it on his skin. He licks his lips and nearly feels it on his tongue, a sharp echo that sparks his memory. 

“Now?” Niall asks because they’d have to get into the car for that, navigate the busy rush hour traffic for an hour tops in the hotel before they have to be back for the concert. He feels himself agreeing though, like he could ever say no. 

Paddy doesn’t say anything, just gives Zayn a look before climbing into the front seat of one of the cars. Niall slides in beside Zayn at the back, a foot of plush leather between them. Zayn fiddles with his phone the whole way, pausing to gulp out of a bottle of water and Niall flits his gaze between the movement of Zayn’s throat and the gridlocked city out his window. It’s as much of Copenhagen he’ll see this trip. 

Zayn smiles at him when they get in through the kitchen of the hotel and up onto the fifth floor. It’s slow and syrupy again. His eyes look tired but that could be more to do with the ache in his bones rather than lack of sleep.

Niall doesn’t ask for a clarification, just lets Zayn pull him down onto the bed, limbs curling round each other as Zayn settles in for a nap, just like old times. 

Niall stares at the ceiling, a mirror image of his own hotel room but it feels different. The duvet feels more homey than his across the hallway. Where he’s got his suitcase lying in the middle of the room, open so he can see the contents, Zayn’s got a few shirts hung up, a stack of paperbacks that he never gets round to actually reading leant against the wall below the TV. His laptop is closed beside it, sitting on the corner of the desk like he just set it there, one of Harry’s candles on the lid. 

Zayn’s already out for the count beside him, forehead pressed to Niall’s shoulder and his mouth slightly open as he breathes slowly into Niall’s bicep. His forehead looks smooth, face serene in sleep.

Niall wakes up to fingers in his hair. He can’t have been out for long, mouth not yet properly gummy from sleep. The hand twists, pulling carefully at tufts at the front before it scrapes three lines across his scalp. Niall shivers and he feels Zayn’s chest vibrate with his laugh. 

“Yes, it‘s nearly show time,” Zayn says and when Niall squints up at him he can see him with his phone to his ear. He’s smiling, looking out the window where the sun’s dropped down out of the sky, leaving it a periwinkle blue colour. Zayn’s face is lovely like this, sharp chin softened by the rough carpet of stubble he’s got spread across his jaw. His cheekbones prominent because he’s pulling at the side of his mouth with his teeth, worrying at his lip and making it red as he listens. When he blinks his eyelashes blur together. 

“Yeah, of course I’m fine. Had my five-a-day and everything,” Zayn answers, laughing again. He massages the pads of his fingers into Niall’s head and Niall fights to hold in a moan. It feels amazing, the uncoordinated tracing of Zayn’s fingers in his hair. It’s making him feel sleepy again, tension seeping out of his shoulders. “I’ve got Niall to look after me, don’t I?”

Niall can hear the whisper of a woman’s laugh on the other end of the phone, the tinny rattle of it muffled on Zayn’s cheek. It makes his shoulders lock just a little bit but Zayn doesn’t let up his slow rake of his fingers through his hair and it seeps out of him again. Zayn releases a low laugh at something she says and thumb against Niall’s hairline. 

“Yeah, he’ll take good care of me,” Zayn says and when Niall looks up, his smile is fading, like he’s sad to put down the phone. Niall scrambles to remember a scrap of overheard conversation or a murmur of gossip that Zayn and Perrie’d got back together. It makes his stomach twist in the most uncomfortable way.

“See you later, yeah…,” Zayn responds. “Yeah, yes- look you‘re gonna make me late.”

He gives Niall an exasperated look but Niall can see the way he’s smiling, tongue pressed to the back of his teeth. Niall wishes it was for him. 

“Ok, mum, yeah love you too.”

Niall’s breath leaves him with a whoosh he hadn’t realised he’d been holding and Zayn’s fingers press into his skull. It’s his mum, the words roll back over in his head. His _mum_. Niall feels a spool of guilt unravel. He was worried for nothing. 

“Mum says to say hi,” Zayn tells him, shifting down the bed a few more inches so he’s more in line with where Niall’s head is pillowed. It means he has to take his hand out of Niall’s hair but he settles it near his wrist instead, fingers brushing against Niall’s skin. 

“Hi, mum,” Niall replies, turning to look at him face to face. He can’t fight his grin. He’s close, nose a mere inch from his and Niall can see Zayn’s eyes blur together, going slightly cross- eyed. He laughs and it seems huge because they’re pressed so tight. 

He could kiss him like this. All he’d have to do is lean forward and they’d meet. The thought shakes him. It’s the first time in a long time that he’s thought about doing that. Niall blinks, bringing Zayn back into focus. He’s smiling, tongue a wet tip against his bottom lip. Niall wants to taste it. He could reach out and touch his stomach here, graze his knuckles along the flat space between his t-shirt and waistband.

“We better go,” Zayn says quietly, breaking the moment between them. Niall nods, curls his fingers to himself and watches as Zayn rolls off the bed. He shrugs his shoulders before lifting his arm to tug his shirt off. “Gonna shower and then we’ll pester Paddy for a lift back.”

Niall nods, words failing him as he watches the thin line of Zayn’s shoulders disappear into the bathroom, waistband inching lower as he starts to take off his shorts before the door swings closed. 

Niall tries not to dwell on the longing swooping through his stomach, even though it’s starting to eat him alive.

*

“The old woman hangs around and pretends to be ill,” Liam says out loud, squinting up at his phone. He’s sprawled across one of the sofa benches at the back of the bus, one hand holding his phone high above his head and the other settled low on his tummy. If he starts fiddling with his junk Niall’s going to have to leave. 

“Male is part of the group arranged to provide lies,” Zayn counters, stooped over his iPad at the table. He has his foot pulled up beside him, socked toes curling into his thigh. 

“What?” Niall asks, kicking his way through the mess they’ve already created on the bus after a few days of being on the road. It sounds like they’re speaking in riddles, but not the ones they usually mess about in. Louis snorts from where he’s curled round a cushion at the very back sofa. 

“They’ve got a new app,” he explains. “Zayn’s getting all intellectual again.”

“Hey, Lou,” Zayn says, voice unperturbed. “Here’s one for you--ten across; idiot hugging tree, expressing a load of nonsense. Eight letters.”

“T - O - M - L - I - N - S - O - N,” Liam spells out on his hand with a conspiring grin aimed at Zayn. He’s holding nine fingers out by the end. “Yeah, I think that fits.”

“You’re an idiot, Liam,” Louis mutters darkly, one side of his face hidden against his pillow. 

“Go hug a tree,” Zayn replies matter of factly. Niall laughs and sinks into the seat opposite Zayn. He can see the black and white grid of the crossword on his iPad but also the flicker of Google on his phone screen near his elbow. 

Niall kicks his foot forward, catching Zayn’s ankle gently and Zayn glances up, smile lighting up his own face. 

“Getting anywhere fast?” Niall asks. 

“How many letters is that one?” Zayn asks, mouth twisting into another grin as he sets his arm deliberately over his phone to hide his cheating. Niall laughs but he doesn’t tout on him, it’s always fun to see Liam squirm. Plus there’s something nice about being let into a little secret of Zayn’s. Niall feels close to him as he hooks his foot around Zayn’s again. It feels bold, which it shouldn’t but he can’t remember the last time they’ve done something like this, hang out together doing something silly. 

“Four participating in sensual merriment,” Liam says a moment later, pulling an exasperated face. “What the fuck is that meant to mean? Eight letters; foursome?” 

“Oh yes, you can spell that one right. You dirty dog,” Louis croons from the back of the bus and Zayn laughs, shoulders shaking. “Never knew you and Soph had it in you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Liam brushes him off but Niall can see the way his cheeks pink up. His hand sways above his head. “It’s Zayn you should be worried about, who knows what him and Perrie get up to.”

The laughter sucks out of the room and Niall can feel the tension roll through Zayn right down to his feet. His ankle jerks, taking Niall’s with it. 

“Shit,” Liam says, rolling out of his position so he’s facing Zayn upright. “Sorry, that was shit of me.”

Zayn shrugs it off. “Don’t worry about it.”

“No, seriously,” Liam insists and Niall can see the way Zayn’s got his fingers clenched into the blue cover on his iPad. He wants to reach across and touch them, unfold his fingers and curl them around his own instead. He keeps his hands where they are though, folded against the table as he watches Zayn carefully. He’s biting his lip, a telltale sign that he’s concentrating, probably on snapping at Liam by the firm set of his brow. Liam sighs and opens his mouth across the bus and Niall knows what he’s like, he’ll go on about this until he thinks Zayn’s forgiven him. Niall would rather placate him now to get him off his back but Zayn grits his teeth in front of him, not giving in. 

“It was just a slip,” Liam says quietly, face turning forlorn. Louis takes that as his cue to untangle himself from Harry’s orthopedic pillow and slap a hand down on Liam’s shoulder. 

“It’s alright,” Louis says brightly. “Was gonna happen sometime, I’m just glad it happened to you, Li.”

Liam and Zayn both force laughs, Liam’s trailing off into nothing after Zayn’s stopped. 

“I better get to bed,” Liam says quietly and Louis nods, ushers him up to his feet. The bus is steady, the quiet thrum of the motorway below them. “Starting to feel a bit travel sick.”

“Night,” Zayn says tightly. The screen on his iPad has timed out anyway, black reflecting the stern expression on Zayn’s face. 

“You ok?” Niall asks, once Louis has prodded Liam in the back and down the aisle to the bunks. He doesn’t really want to ask, doesn’t think he can handle Zayn if he gets mopey over this, but he needs something to fill the silence between them. The toilet flushes behind them, someone’s brushing their teeth. Zayn nods, a jerky little thing that Niall hasn’t seen in a while that normally means Zayn’s nervous or agitated. 

“Yeah.” Zayn nods again. He pauses. The bathroom light clicks off. “Think I’ll head to bed too.”

He gets to his feet clumsily, iPad fumbling out of his grip before he catches it again. 

Niall’s not sure what makes him do it, but he slings his hand out when Zayn walks past him, catching him about the wrist. 

He doesn’t say anything, just rubs his thumb over the ridge of his wrist bone. He hears Zayn exhale, a rough puff of air before he pulls away and makes for his bunk. Niall gives him a moment to get himself sorted. The aisle can be claustrophobic with more than one person changing in it. 

His fingers are still warm, soaked in the heat of Zayn’s skin. He wants to press them against his mouth, feel how hot they are against the thin skin of his lips. He resists, keeps them pressed against the flat of the table. There’s a stain from where one of them has obviously spilt cereal, a greenish slime that makes Niall think of Zayn and his liking for Lucky Charms, excessively expensive this far away from America. 

The lights are off when he makes it to the bunks, guided by the low blue lights on the floor. He strips out of his clothes easily and climbs into his bunk. He can see from the glow of his phone that Zayn’s curtain is pulled completely shut, tightly velcroed to the side of the box. Niall rolls over, braces his hand against the soft side of his bunk and tries to fall asleep. 

He can’t really, his mind tracking back to how warm Zayn had been and the floaty feeling in his gut when Zayn had kicked his ankle back. He feels young, blush creeping up his face as he buries his face into his blanket. Who plays footsie anymore? Who still gets all tingly over it?

He’s still awake nearly an hour later when the bus rolls to a stop. He feels the jolt of the brake, the weight of the bus lurching up with the momentum. He’s not going to bother getting up when he hears the pull of a curtain and a pair of feet landing on the aisle behind him with a soft thump. He knows it’s Zayn without looking and he waits a moment, halfheartedly debating whether to follow him before he untangles himself from his blankets too. 

He looks a state, Liam’s flip flops jammed on his feet and his hair still a mess. The hoody he’s pulled on is miles too big on him, hem slipping down over his thighs but he crosses his fingers that there’s no fans loitering around a random pit stop in the arsehole of Europe at three am and follows Zayn’s hunched shoulders into the filling station.

“Can’t sleep?” Niall asks, so he doesn’t scare him. Zayn startles anyway, shoulders jumping as he turns round to look at Niall. There’s an awkward pause between them, one that Niall can’t quite figure out. There’s been an undercurrent of awkwardness since they’ve got back on tour, something just a little bit stilted that makes Niall hyper aware of everything he says and how he says it. Niall can’t remember it always being like that but they’ve been spending more time with each other since they’ve got back. 

“Nah,” Zayn shrugs, breaking the silence. “Want a smoke, might chill me out.”

Niall nods and turns towards the magazines. The shop is empty except for their group, the bus driver buying a coffee at the stand and a bored looking guy behind the till. Preston’s stocking up on milk for the morning and Zayn slips in front of him in the queue to get more cigarettes. 

The shop’s huge and equally as nondescript, all the rest stops all over the world blending into one. He remembers that first weekend being home after he had gotten his test and Sean dragging him out to cruise in the car. He’d driven to the nearest Applegreens, just to show off his fancy Range Rover and buy them all soggy chips from the all-night Burger King. 

He loops around the shop, glancing at the random assortment of crap all of these shops seem to have. Zayn’s at the counter now--Niall keeps glancing up at him to see when he leaves. He doesn’t know what he wants, he doesn’t need anything, he’s just stalling. He fills his arms with random things; a blow-up beach ball that they’ll never use and a tube of toblerone that’s the length of his leg. He finds a tub of sparkly pens and he grabs a sudoku book because it’s always funny to watch Liam’s face screw up when he gets stuck. He grabs a crossword puzzle book too, Zayn’s face floating into the back of his mind when he sees it. 

There’s a stand of DVDs by the till. Niall throws a few of them on top of his pile, acutely aware of how Zayn’s slipped out of the shop and Niall’s the only one still there, apart from Preston, who’s eyeing his purchases warily. 

“Some retail therapy?” he asks when Niall punches his pin code into the chip reader. Niall flashes him a look. He’s too tired to joke around, eyes going gritty and he knows he should’ve ignored his curiosity over Zayn and stayed in his bunk. He’d be asleep by now, no rattling tread of tires to keep him awake. 

Zayn’s just finishing his cigarette when he pushes through the door out into the cool night air. He’s sitting on the top of a picnic table, feet on the flaking wooden seat. 

“You want the last pull?” he asks, holding his hand out. Niall shakes his head. He doesn’t have a free hand anyway. Zayn’s eyes flicker down to his full arms and he raises an eyebrow. 

“Bored?” he asks, because the puzzle books keep flapping in the wind. Niall hopes he doesn’t get a papercut. 

“Thought I’d take your mind off it, we can watch a movie at the back of the bus until we both fall asleep.” Niall feels shaky, tired nerves making him feel like he could just drop. 

“Yeah,” Zayn shrugs and slides off the tabletop. It’s quiet, the low elevator music from the shop blocked out by the glass swing doors beside them and the road devoid of traffic. 

“I think my head’s too full, y’know?” Zayn says quietly. He fidgets for a moment before he pulls out his lighter again, lighting up a second cigarette. He glances over Niall again but Niall shakes his purchases in his arm to remind him he still doesn’t have a free hand. His mouth waters though, as if he could feel the heat of it on his tongue and the burn at the back of his throat. He wonders for a moment if he should drop the rubbish in his arms and take him up on his offer but he isn’t sure what he’d do with his hands then. At least now he’s got his arms busy clutching his goods to his chest.

“I keep forgetting about it but then something really small will bring her back into my head.” Zayn groans and paces a few steps ahead before he spins and walks back towards the picnic table. “If it wasn’t Liam it would be something else.” 

He aims a kick at the picnic table and then winces when it hurts. “Fuck sake, I thought it’d be easier out here, away from it all. I feel like such a pleb.”

“You just need to keep your mind off it.” Niall knows it’s useless advice, Zayn’s just said he’s been trying to do just that. He forces his face into a bright smile, trying to be reassuring. Zayn scowls around his cigarette before stubbing it out in the painted yellow picnic table before they turn back towards the bus.

*

The show in Paris feels electric, one that sets a fire roaring in the pit of his belly and sends his synapses flaring. Afterward, Harry’s hyped up beside him, bouncing on the balls of his feet as the lift goes through the motions of each floor, ground, first, second slowly ticking by. 

“Do you wanna go out tonight?” Harry asks him, hem of his shirt caught between his fingers. He’s two steps from stripping out of it. “Get a drink? See the sights?”

Niall shrugs. There’s something buzzing across his skin that’ll keep him up all night but he isn’t sure if he’s up for Harry’s escapades through late night summer Paris. 

He’s saved from making an excuse when the doors finally ding open on their floor. There’re people buzzing about, doors to hotel rooms open since they’ve started renting out the whole floor everywhere they go now. It’s a cliché but Niall’s used to it, revels in the freedom of not having to worry who your neighbours are.

“Wanna get something to eat?” Zayn asks. He’s leant up against the wall on the other side of the hall like he’d been waiting for Niall to appear. “I’ll order room service up?”

Harry’s already turned to find someone else to cajole into sneaking out so Niall nods, fingers already sifting through his matted hair. 

“Lemme shower first?” Niall asks because Zayn’s already changed. He’s wearing a shirt that Niall doesn’t recognise and a pair of jeans that look soft, even though they’re moulded to his thighs and knees. 

“Sure,” Zayn says and steps back into the doorway of his own room, smile muted on his lips. “Take your time.” 

Niall nods and jams the key card into his own door. Liam’s door opposite is shut too. Harry slaps at his thigh as he walks past, key card jammed in his mouth and four bottles of Corona balanced between each of his fingers. There’s a bulge in his pocket that’s lime shaped. He gives him a look that Niall can’t really work out because his headband is slipping down his face but he’s pretty sure it doesn’t translate into ‘give into your feelings about your best friend’.

Niall tries not to think about it as he showers, puts it down to a natural reaction to being close to Zayn again. Of course there’s that bit of attraction there, it’s always been there lingering somewhere deep down below the surface. 

He wears a pair of jogging bottoms that have been in the bottom of his suitcase since the last time he was away, back when anything tighter hurt his knee, and a hoody that will withstand the cool air conditioning he knows Zayn will be blasting. Paris isn’t even that warm but Zayn’s constantly running a few degrees hotter than the rest of them. 

He knocks on Zayn’s door once and tries not to feel out of place in his sock soles. The hotel isn’t quiet; Liam next door must finally be home and Louis’ blasting something with a beat on down the hallway. It’s all slightly muffled and Niall closes his eyes, tries to rein his concentration back in. 

Zayn’s staring at him when he opens his eyes again, mouth turned up into a smile. Niall feels himself flush, cheeks betraying him as they probably flame red. He swallows. 

“You ok?” Zayn asks him but there’s a hint of laughter in his tone and Niall nods, slipping past him into his hotel room. He glances in the mirror and his face is as pale as it usually is. He still feels hot. 

“Still hyped up from the show, y’know, are you n-” Niall stalls as he walks round the corner and into the main room. Zayn’s got the lamp dimmed so there’s no glare on the window with the curtain pulled back. He can see the Eiffel Tower, the lights on it twinkling across the city. He’s pulled the table in from the living area, set it up with a chair on either side. The room service cart is already there, bottle of wine breathing on the tablecloth he must’ve asked reception for special. 

Niall can hear the in and out of his own breathing, how his chest expands with every lungful. If he loses track of it he thinks he might start to panic.

“Thought it’d be nice,” Zayn says from behind him and Niall registers the hesitance in it. 

This isn’t something they do. Niall’s head struggles to catch up. 

He feels underdressed, his jogging bottoms slouching round his arse and his hair dripping onto his sweatshirt. 

“You can see the Eiffel Tower,” Zayn says and he must move because Niall can see him from the corner of his eye now. Zayn’s face is all calm on the exterior but Niall catches the way his eyes are sharp and how he’s fidgeting with one of the rings on his fingers. “Safe enough away that you won’t feel claustrophobic.” Zayn laughs and Niall can hear the nervous timber of it.

Is this a _date_?

Niall can’t quite choke out the words to ask so instead he swallows, sucks in another breath and forces his voice to be light. 

“Looks sick, man.” Niall averts his eyes from the window and focuses on the table. “I hope you ordered snails.” 

It sounds wrong, too tense but Zayn’s shoulders relax at his words and Niall forces his feet to move. He sits down, angles his chair a bit so he can’t see the glittering skyline beside them and looks at his plate. 

“Course,” Zayn laughs, and it sounds light. “I know how you like them.” 

Niall grins at him, glancing up and then down again. It feels very formal, with crisp white napkins and Zayn pouring him wine into an actual wine glass. It’s red and when Niall takes a sip he’s relieved it doesn’t taste of vinegar. He’s hit with an image of the last time he and Zayn had drank cheap red wine out of a mini bar, back when they drank anything that was going and it was an illicit part of sharing hotel rooms together. Niall had spent most of the night with his head in a toilet but Zayn had stayed with him, rubbing a hand up his back because he thought it would help. 

It’s dry as he swallows, mouth flooding with saliva afterwards.

“No champagne?” Niall jokes. “This how you woo all your girls?” 

Zayn’s hand falters, fumbles with the plate of starters he’s ordered but he recovers quickly, flashing Niall a tight smile. It’s too late though, Niall knows he’s put his foot in it. 

He tries for something to say; something to make it better but his mind comes up blank and Zayn seems to be ignoring his comment. He takes a breath, murmurs a ‘thank you’ when Zayn passes him a bit of baguette and a little ceramic dish of snails. 

“I thought you’d appreciate it,” Zayn says and Niall’s fingers slip around the tongs, a snail flinging up into the air between them. Niall lets out a stunned laugh.

Zayn looks good like this, the lamp light behind him setting him at a soft glow. He’s wearing his glasses and Niall can see the lights of the tower reflected on the lenses. They move; it must be on the hour. He wishes he had angled his chair towards the window now, the view would be less breathtaking than this one. 

It’s too late though. He can’t move his chair, he can hardly move his arms from the locked position he’s got them in, shoulders tense and spine taut. Zayn doesn’t look like he’s faring much better, jaw jutted out like he’s still mid-sentence and his hand hovering over his fork. 

Time stretches between them as Niall tries to think of something to say that isn’t ‘are you wooing _me_?’

“Think Harry’s going on the pull,” Niall blurts out. Zayn’s head snaps up to look at him and Niall suddenly feels warm, he hadn’t really thought of how to follow up that statement and he’s pretty sure Zayn knows he’s out on the pull anyway. “And here we are,” Niall wants to swallow his own tongue but he can’t stop talking. He can see how Zayn’s eyes narrow with every word. “Eating a fancy dinner,” Niall finishes weakly. “For two.”

Niall shoves a snail into his mouth, chews it without really tasting and lifts a second to his mouth before he’s even swallowing the first one. 

“Just thought it’s something a bit different, isn‘t it?” Zayn says and goes to top up Niall’s wine glass. He doesn’t need it, he’s only had one mouthful but he lets him, watches as Zayn’s hand shakes, the lip of the bottle hitting off the edge of the wine glass. It rings in the otherwise silent room. “Something special. Suppose you’ve got the whole rest of the tour to be out hooking up.”

The finality in his tone makes Niall’s stomach unfold. He shoves a third snail into his mouth. Zayn doesn’t meet his eyes over the table and Niall isn’t sure how this could go much worse. 

“Well, you can come on the pull with us properly now, can’t you?” Niall asks lightly, snail still a half-chewed mess in his mouth. It clumps coldly at the back of his throat. Nope, that’s how to make it worse.

“I got us steaks.” Zayn’s tone is brisk and the subject is clearly Moving On. Niall isn’t sure why, he isn’t oblivious to Louis’ action plan of getting Zayn fucked enough that he’ll magically forget all about Perrie--they trailed through the majority of Scandinavia with a list of pretty blonde conquests. 

Zayn goes to lift the cloche but fumbles and it drops, hitting off the side of the cart with a clang and taking the bottle of wine with it. 

“Shit,” Zayn yelps and drops to his knees. He rights the bottle but the damage is done, there’s already a red patch seeping out across the cream carpet. 

“It’s alright,” Niall says, and finds himself slipping down off his seat too. Zayn’s patting at the wet patch with his hands and it’s doing nothing to stem the flow. “It’s ok, we’ll get it out. Zayn.”

Niall reaches across and grips his wrist just as Zayn looks up. His eyes are wide, still glittery in the dim light and his lips are full this close, wet with spit and there’s dark red from the wine caked in the corner of his lip, cracking every time he opens his mouth. 

Niall’s not sure who leans in first, only registers they’re kissing when Zayn’s hands lift up to his face, wet from the spilt wine as he slides one across his cheek and the other one onto his neck. 

Zayn makes a noise, licking across Niall’s bottom lip to make him open his mouth. It’s nice, Niall hasn’t kissed anyone like this in a while, someone he knows, something he’ll remember because he isn’t blind drunk. 

There’s a familiarity in it. Even though he hasn’t kissed Zayn before he _knows_ that it’s him. The rough of his chin against Niall’s skin, the length of his fingers as they sink into Niall’s hair, the way he licks into Niall‘s mouth.

They pull apart just as abruptly as they met, Zayn’s eyes widening as he sits back. Niall’s knees are wet where the wine has spread, lips numb from where Zayn had kissed him. 

“I-” Zayn starts and then shakes his head. “That wasn’t -”

“It’s ok,” Niall says because it is, sort of. Niall doesn’t have time to process it and find out if he’s actually ok with it but it seems like it’s important to keep calm about it. He wants to lick his lips, touch them to make sure it was real. “It’s fine, Zayn.”

“I never -” Zayn cuts off and shakes his head, gaze firmly fixed on Niall‘s knees. “I’ll see you in the morning, yeah?” 

Niall knows a dismissal when he hears it so he gets to his feet, gripping the edge of the table to pull himself up. Zayn stays where he is, one hand pressed into the red stain and never lifting his head. 

“Dinner was nice,” Niall says, lingering by the archway towards the door. Zayn’s shoulders relax, unrounding where he’s still hunched over the stain. 

“See you later,” Zayn says, voice more resigned than Niall had heard him all night. 

The corridor is no less busy when he walks across it, Harry’s door open now to let out the music. It’s muffled slightly when Niall closes his own door with a snap and sits on the edge of his bed, finally lifting a hand to touch it to his mouth. It feels like they’re still burning and Niall closes his eyes, lets himself relive the memory of it now for a moment before he torments himself with the rest of the shit that came with it.

He could go out, Harry would be happy to have him tag along. He could get absolutely smashed and ignore the confused mess in his head. Escape into a bottle of Jamison, if he could find it in Paris. He mulls it over, wonders how much Basil would hate him if he dragged him out of his bed to flounce about whatever semi-posh, semi-hipster place Harry will direct them to and then take him home to bed when Niall’ll inevitably have had enough.

He’s eyeing up the selection of shirts spilling out of the top compartment of his suitcase when there’s a yell in the hallway, hardly muffled by the walls. 

“Zayn.” Harry drags his name out, voice rough but happy. Niall’s insides lurch and he nearly trips over the rug to get to his door fast. He can feel the pump, pump of his heart as he listens in, one hand splayed against the cool wood of his door. There’s that prickle at the back of his neck, like he’ll be caught eavesdropping at any moment and it makes his breathing spike. There’s that sickly excited feeling of playing hide and seek, reckless nerves buzzing about his belly as he presses his eye up against the peep hole. 

Zayn’s standing just in frame and Niall wonders for a ridiculous moment if it’s a coincidence or if he’s doing it on purpose. He tries to control his breathing but it comes out a harsh wheeze against the wood and Niall fleetingly worries that they’ll hear him. 

He’s changed into a dark shirt, cut well around his side and Niall knows that for once it’s his own clothes. It looks soft, silky even under the warm yellow lights in the corridor. He’s still wearing the jeans, painted onto his arse so the rectangle of his phone is completely visible. His hair’s all spiked up, twisted into a perfectly poised quiff that looks effortless. He’s lost the glasses but even through the fish eye of the peephole Niall can see that he’s put makeup on, something ringed round his eyes to make them stand out. 

Harry slings an arm around him, pushing a bottle of something into his hand. 

“You need to catch up,” Harry singsongs, nuzzling in close. “We’re heading out soon.”

The realisation that Zayn’s stolen his idea, beat him to joining the party and heading out, makes his stomach drop. He pushes his palms against the door, blinks so slow that his eyelashes catch on the metal lip of the peephole as he comes to terms with it. 

They slip easily out of eye range but Niall stays there, unseeing, against the door for another few moments as the music cuts off in Harry’s room and the din of chatter dissipates as they start to leave. 

He catches a glimpse of a leather jacket before he turns his head away, feeling like he’s spying. He swallows, throat feeling tight and Niall knows he’s jealous, he’d be silly to deny it. 

He kicks his suitcase closed so he doesn’t have to see his outfit options and hunts through the tangled ball of crap at the bottom of his carryon bag for his headphones before he drops into his bed, jamming them into his iPod to blast something loud so he doesn’t have to hear them when they come back. He falls into a disrupted sleep like that, curled up into a tense ball underneath the blankets.

His hotel room is huge, a little living area with a big table that Niall could fit a family around for Sunday dinner if he wanted. There’s a proper bath in the bathroom, one that shoots out the bubbles that always make Niall squirm.

It’s still too small though. Niall can feel the walls close in the longer he lies there, the ugly picture hanging on the wall looming towards him. He’s starting to itch, like he’s been locked in the room since the night before with all this restless energy buzzing under his skin. It’s barely eight am, the red lights of the alarm clock staring back at him unblinking. He’s exhausted, the tour finally catching up on him but he properly drift off, no matter how hard he tries. Every time he closes his eye he feels Zayn’s lips on him, sees his shocked, devastated face and then a murky image of him kissing someone else, all smudged black eyeliner and leather jacket. Niall feels queasy as it rolls over in his mind again and again on a loop. 

He kicks off the duvet again, half of it sliding down onto the floor. He needs to do something. Harry’ll be in the gym, hangover be damned but he’s avoiding Mark, his legs can’t take anymore of his intense training bullshit and he doesn’t fancy contorting himself into a pretzel for Harry’s benefit anyway. He knows the McFly lads are still floating about, that he could find one of them and mess about, but even that is unsettlingly too close to the tour, too close to knowing what could be going on. 

He needs someone new.

Paul takes one look at him in his doorway, shakes his head and lets him in. 

“Ta,” Niall says, voice rough. 

“Today’s a lie-in day,” Paul reminds him but he doesn’t sound that angry, Niall knows he’s used to it. He’s already on his phone and Niall perches on the edge of his bed, hands stuffed into the pockets of the hoody he‘s slept in. “Order breakfast,” he says and gets to work on making some calls. 

By lunchtime he’s standing in the middle of the Bois du Boulogne in the Racing Club kit squeezing a rugby ball between his fingers. He feels a bit starstruck that he’s here but with the way Ronan is grinning at him, he knows they aren’t going to go easy on him.

He thinks mildly that it would be fun if Zayn was here, how cute he’d look in pale blue and white stripes like Niall’s, his legs all trussed up in socks and boots. He’d be so out of place it would be hilarious. Niall would laugh and pass him the ball, watching as he’d probably fumble it with his hands but be able to kick it further than him. He’d scrunch up his nose as Niall would go over and high five him, laugh into his chest and lean in close. But pull away when Niall goes to kiss him, pushing him away stubbornly.

Niall scowls. Imaginary Zayn is just as perfectly annoying as the real one. 

“Ya ready?” Johnny calls out from where he’s jogging lightly backwards. Niall nods, staring down at the ball in his hands. He inhales a lungful of gloriously cool fresh air and imagines it’s whoever snuck out of Zayn’s room this morning before he boots it towards him. He can see Paul off in the distance chatting to some of the club officials and Basil in the corner of his eye. 

The sun is already cheering him up, Ronan’s brisk accent behind him urging him on as he takes another kick at the ball. He can sink into it, turn his whole concentration to the ball and the lads around him. There’s a familiarity in standing in the middle of a pitch, the white lines stretching on ahead of him up to the crossbar and if it weren’t for the sun and the wrong shape of the ball he could kid himself that he’s standing in the middle of Cusack. 

He can feel the agitated buzz drain through his boots and into the grass below him as he watches the ball sail back towards him, hands outstretched automatically to catch it. 

He’s nearly winded by it as it careens into his chest but when he blinks his eyes open and squints through the sunlight he can see the way Johnny grins at him and feel Ronan’s hand as he smacks him on the back. 

“Yes, Horan,” one of them yells at him and he’s being pushed down, ball cradled to his chest. He feels a bubble of laughter burst out of him. “We’ll make a hooker of you yet.”

Niall snorts. He’d break like a twig if they played rugby properly but it feels nice, that validation from someone completely outside their little bubble. He blinks into the sun and takes another swing, relishing in the thud of it.

Later, when he’s back at the hotel and badly needing a shower, he casually asks after Zayn. 

“Packing probably,” Louis answers easily. He’s got a plate of something in his hand and Niall wants to steal it, he’s starving. His legs are starting to feel like jelly. 

“Why?” Niall asks, walking over to see what he’s got. 

“He’s flying out straight after the show,” Louis answers through a mouthful of pasta. Niall’s pleasant buzz fizzles out of him, stomach turning to lead. 

“He’s leaving?” Niall asks flatly and realises his mistake as soon as Louis’ head jerks up to look at him. He tries to force his face into a neutral expression but Louis’ eyes just narrow. 

“He’s heading home for a day or two before Amsterdam,” Louis answers. “Don’t know why, the plan was always to head on up for a few days there instead.”

Niall nods and turns so Louis can’t scrutinise him anymore. Basil catches his face, he’s got two plates in his hands and he gives one away to Niall immediately. It smells amazing but his appetite’s gone now.

“We’ll make our own fun,” he tells him. Niall nods, ignoring the fact that Basil seems to have twigged on already, and tries to drown his disappointment in Carbonara sauce. It doesn’t work as well as a bottle of whiskey but a bowl and a half later he doesn’t feel quite so sick. 

Zayn smiles sheepishly at him when they line up for their preshow huddle, eyes flickering away almost immediately. Niall watches him as Liam pulls him in tight to the group and Louis yells nonsense in his ear over the din the crowd are making. It all melts away; that frustration and jealousy that‘s been bubbling under his skin all day. Zayn’s in front of him, as he always will be. A lot more permanent than a nameless face in Paris.

“Have a good show,” Niall shouts, directing it at Zayn even though they’re all still huddled together. Zayn’s eyes flicker up and then away again. Niall can nearly see the visible shiver that rolls through him. He thinks he feels it too, that magnetic energy that’s stacked up on top of his adrenaline for the show. It all slots into place, that buzz he’d been ignoring all day that’d been making him antsy. It’s making him feel looped for the show, chest a smidge too tight. 

“Zayn,” Niall calls a few songs in. It’s like poking a bear, he can’t help himself. Half of him just wants Zayn’s attention to be on him, make him the centre of his world for a moment in front of all these people vying for a minute of their time. The crowd ramps him up, filling him with bouyant confidence that makes him feel like it’s ok to talk to him here.

Zayn turns to him, face bright from being on stage. He’s breathing hard already, only a few songs in but Niall understands how all that energy can make you feel breathless. 

“Yeah?” Zayn calls back and Niall steps closer. He feels a bit wide eyed, keyed up in a way that he’s not quite sure what he’s going to say at all.

“Last night,” Niall starts and catalogues the way Zayn’s face shuts down. He wrenches his microphone away, as if it could catch what Niall’s going to say. There isn’t space in his body to feel offended at that. Niall‘s tongue feels on fire. “I really liked last night, I just wanted you to know. I liked it.”

Zayn stares at him. 

Stares at him until Liam’s finished his bit for the crowd and the new music starts.

Stares at him as Niall walks backwards down the stage to where he’s supposed to be standing for this song. Stares until he flubs his first cue in the song and Liam has to sing it for him. 

Stares right into Niall’s soul.

*

Niall’s excited to get back on stage. He’s spent the past two days fucking about with Basil on some bikes he’d found and ignoring the draining, pining feeling he’s got over Zayn’s absence. There’s more hubbub about the place now that everyone’s back, including Zayn. 

He’s at their table, checked tablecloth feeling familiar and he’s starting to get buzzed to get back out on stage, excitement still feeling palpable a few days in. He pushes his plate into the centre of the table and sits back. Louis is sitting opposite, describing in detail the plot to some movie to Liam, who’s got custard on his chin. 

Niall picks up a peach from the fruit bowl in the middle of the table. Harry’s already picked through it so all that’s left is the bare stalk of a bunch of grapes and four squashed peaches; Harry’d never touch them.

It’s only when he bites into it he realises that Zayn’s watching him. He’s standing at a different table, Paddy turned to the side to face him and he’s talking but Zayn doesn’t look like he’s listening anymore. He has a plate balanced in his hand, a fork in the other but he’s staring across the canteen at Niall. 

Niall wishes he was eating something a hell of a lot more sexy than a peach. Harry gets told off all the time for making eye contact when he’s eating bananas - Niall wishes he had a banana. 

He’s already bit into it though, so he may as well commit. He chews the bite of peach carefully before going for a more theatrical bite, letting the juice dribble down his chin and get his mouth wet. He runs the tip of his tongue over the corner of his mouth, licking down his bottom lip before he touches it to the flesh of the peach again. 

Zayn smirks, not fazed at all. It makes Niall’s teeth scrape against the stone of the peach, the grind of it reverberating through his jaw. He clenches them together and tries not to give it away but Zayn’s smile just grows. 

“You alright there, Nialler?” Louis asks, finally finished his rundown of the top five funniest moments in superhero movies. Niall’s eyes water a bit. “You look like you’re deciding what’s worse, shitting a watermelon or pissing a grape. Giving it a go are you?” 

“Fuck you,” Niall replies easily, finally finding his voice. 

“Grape, I think,” Liam says from the end of the table and scrapes his bowl loudly with his spoon. He’s a second away from licking it too. 

Zayn stands up, says something to Paddy and disappears out the door. Niall itches to follow him. 

“Would you rather have fingers for toes or toes for fingers?” Louis asks. Liam’s forehead wrinkles as he starts to think about it. 

“Sort of the same, aren’t they?” Niall asks. He’s not really in the mood to carry on playing but he doesn’t want to chase after Zayn after. His shoulders are tense so he tries to relax them, takes a sup of his beer. 

“Fingers for toes, think of all the things you can pick up with them.” Liam shrugs and pushes his spoon into Niall’s untouched dessert. “Dicks for thumbs or a thumb as your dick?” 

Louis pulls a face and turns to look at Liam properly. “Have you cracked into some magic mushrooms or something?” 

Liam laughs, eyes crinkling up and Niall knows he’s been up to something. 

“When in Rome, I suppose,” Louis says and lets out a disbelieving laugh. 

“But we’re in Amsterdam,” Liam answers very seriously through a mouthful of pudding. 

Louis starts cackling. “You’re an idiot, Li,” he manages between breaths. 

Niall’s smile feels fake on his face but he keeps it there, right up until he feels a hand on his shoulder. It slides up around his neck, cupping at his hairline. Niall wants to melt into it.

“Hi,” Niall says quietly, making room for Zayn at the table beside him. Liam and Louis have moved on, squabbling over something on Liam’s phone but it’s easy to drown them out, Niall’s focus shaping around Zayn. “You have a nice trip home?” 

Zayn shrugs, mouth turning up at the side. 

“It was a bit strange,” Zayn admits quietly and Niall wants to lean in closer, soak up this quiet version of him. 

“You get scooped by some aliens?” Niall asks and watches as Zayn’s eyes crinkle. 

“That would’ve been cool,” Zayn corrects him and Niall grins, being this close to him even just after a few days is infectious. He wants to burrow his face into the space between Zayn’s shoulder and his throat, listen to his heartbeat there. 

Niall restrains himself, fingers curling into the fabric of the shorts he’s wearing today. They bunch up at his thigh and Niall holds on. 

“Nah,” Zayn says then. “It was nice being at home, it feels more real than being on tour, you know? Like more stable.” 

Niall nods. He gets it a bit, tour sometimes feels like home to Niall, doing the thing he loves the most but he gets that there’s nothing better than a night in your own bed. 

“Everything in one place,” Zayn continues quietly, he stays quiet for a moment, picking at the corner of his thumb. “I seen Pez.” 

Zayn eyes dart up to click in with Niall. It feels like he’s being gauged, like Zayn’s waiting for his reaction. Niall keeps his face smooth, even though he’s anything but on the inside. He isn’t particularly surprised, she’s not just going to go away in a poof of bubblegum smoke. Still, it doesn’t really sit all that well with him. 

“She ok?” Niall asks, admiring how even his voice is. Zayn nods jerkily, turning it into a little shoulder shrug. 

“She needed help moving the last of her stuff out of the house.” 

Niall swallows and keeps his gaze trained to the tea-ring stain on the table top. 

“It’s weird without all her stuff there, everything seems half empty,” Zayn says, voice growing looser and it feels like he’s opening up to him, shoulder turning so he’s sitting face to face to Niall at the side of the long table. Niall nods even though he’s not sure. He’s never really lived with anyone, not like that. His closet is packed with all his stuff, everything in there all belonging to him. He’s never had to halve a DVD collection or sort through the mugs in the cupboard. He catches Zayn’s eye again and tries to work out what’s going on in there.

“You want to talk about it?” Niall can’t help but ask. Zayn’s always quiet about these things, needs prodded until he’ll spill everything out in one glut of emotion. Niall hates it, the needling away and trying to think of the right question to ask. It’s been that long since he’s had to do it too, Zayn slipping off to one of the others when he’s been wanting to talk about something and Niall hasn’t honestly minded, he’s not one for long, soppy heart-to-hearts well into the night anyway.

Zayn shrugs and Niall hopes he isn’t seeing the shutters going down again. 

“It will just take getting used to,” Zayn says. “All this -” he waves at the still mostly full canteen. Liam and Louis have disappeared now but there’re other members of the crew still eating dinner. None of them look near them and it’s a relief, that they aren’t in the spotlight here. 

“Tour takes you away from it all,” Zayn’s voice brings Niall back to the conversation. “Nothing feels too real on tour.”

Niall looks up at him and there’s something intense about Zayn’s stare, like he’s daring him to tell him different. 

“Yeah.” Niall forces himself to laugh. Zayn’s eyes narrow a fraction and he knows he’s been caught out on his fake laugh. “What happens on tour, stays on tour, right? A bit of a laugh.” 

Niall catches the second long pause in which it takes Zayn to smile, big and broad and Niall can’t help the sinking feeling that they’re both pretending at this moment. 

“Right,” Zayn agrees despondently and leans back in his chair, body physically more open to him but completely closed off again at the same time. Niall wishes he had kept his mouth shut because he knows that isn’t what Zayn had wanted to hear, he just doesn’t know what it was that he did.

“Better enjoy it while we can,” Niall says, clearing his throat so he sounds more enthusiastic. Zayn smiles but there’s no light behind it and Niall feels his mouth curve into a match.

It stays there, painted onto his skin until the crowd outside is deafening, screams echoing through to backstage. 

“Ready?” Harry calls, hooking an arm around Niall’s neck and pulling him into their huddle. Niall grins, gripping at Harry’s waist and swinging his other arm round the person next to him. It’s only when his fingers curl around Zayn’s waist does he realise it’s him. Everything else peters out; Louis’ crack about Harry’s mum being fit, Harry’s faux-pouty face back at him, Liam’s dopey smile in response. Everything zeroes in on the heat of Zayn’s body beside him, the way his shirt is too thin to mask how hot he is. He imagines that he can feel Zayn’s pulse against his side but it’s only his own heartbeat reverberating through his veins, just out of time with the feet-stomping crowd.

Zayn steps away from him, takes the arm off his shoulders to put into the middle of the circle. Niall can hear their intro music and the screams get louder. Harry’s yelling something but he’s not concentrating enough to hear what it is. The rest of them all respond and Niall’s mouth lags behind, a jumble of words that sort of sound similar slipping out of his lips like on a Sunday when he isn’t paying attention during the psalm. 

The crowd goes crazy as soon as they’re on the stage, the pyrotechnics lighting them up for a few seconds, pink, blue and green, nameless faces all having the best night of their life. It makes Niall’s chest hurt, for that split second, heart expanding with all the reciprocal love he’s feeling. 

It feels like déjà vu, Zayn holding his microphone away from him again, this time approaching Niall. 

“You know what happened in Paris?” Zayn asks, cutting straight to the point. His face is blazing, that intense look back in his eyes. Niall nods, he doesn’t think he’d forget any time soon. “I liked it too.”

Niall grins, he feels lighter than air, like he could float up through the hole in the stadium. Zayn laughs, the tail end of it catching in his microphone. The crowd roars, delighted. Niall wants to roar with them.

That drastically changes when his knee explodes in pain. He goes down, eyes prickling before he collects himself and stands up again. He catches Harry’s face first but the concern on it is nothing compared to Zayn’s, up the stage a bit, expression pulled taut with worry. 

Niall shakes it off, turns. He’s aware of Liam distracting the crowd but his knee still feels weak. 

He hobbles around for a bit, ugly embarrassment rearing its head because he knows that everyone has clocked his limp. He just wants off the stage, to fly through this final song and get out of the limelight. It’s probably the first time that he’s properly felt this way since they‘ve started touring like this. Stage feels like a second home and it’s jarring to be wishing he was elsewhere. 

The lift to the stage seems so far away but he tries to go as fast he can. He can hear Zayn run through the final riffs of Best Song Ever but he doesn’t run to the end of the stage like he does every other night of tour. His knee is burning, thigh over stretched and leg aching. He wants to keep it straight, to never have to walk on it again and certainly not attempt any stairs, _ever_.

He’s out of luck though, because the topsy-turvy stage they insisted on consists of plenty of them. He wrenches out his microphone, he doesn’t need his heavy breathing blasted back through his in-ears. The band’s winding down, doing their climatic music that normally makes Niall momentarily sad to be finishing. The crowd is still a roar behind him, fireworks exploding and he grips the side of the catwalk as he takes the first set of steps. Harry appears beside him, hand on his back and then another hand that has to belong to Zayn. It feels hot at the back of his neck.

“You’re ok,” Zayn whispers to him and Niall finally lets them take a bit of his weight. He knows the camera is on them as they get to the left and he can feel Louis and Liam do a few final waves before they start to slide down and then Niall’s lifted off his feet before he can even request it. 

“You alright, Niall?” Harry asks immediately, voice loud even against his ear. Zayn shoulders most of his weight and Niall nods, lifting his foot an inch off the ground. 

“M’fine,” Niall grunts, twisting his hand in Zayn’s shirt for a moment before putting his foot back onto the ground. They’re all looking at him like he’s going to break down crying, they’ll wrap him in actual cotton wool soon. 

“It’s just twinging, that’s all.” Niall shakes his shoulders and leans most of the way off Zayn but he can’t seem to unclench the fingers fisted in his shirt. “Nothing a few whiskeys won’t sort out.”

None of them look placated, Basil and Paul hovering just beyond their little circle and Mark beyond that. 

“I’ll sort you out,” Zayn whispers in his ear, breath hot against his skin. It makes Niall shiver and he finally unlatches from him, wobbling onto two unsteady feet. “Come to mine after.”

And then Zayn ushers them all away, taking charge. “Shower boys, I’m not getting into a stinking sweaty bus with you lot.”

“You love it really,” Liam coos and Louis shakes his head, slinging an arm around Harry to drag him away. He still looks worried but Niall grins at him and makes his way slowly after them towards the dressing rooms. 

He thinks about ignoring Zayn’s offer. He takes a second shower once they’re back at the hotel because his first was a measly dip under the showerhead before he collapsed onto the toilet seat to rest his leg. At least in the hotel the showers are big enough that he can rest comfortably against the side without soaking the entire floor. 

It feels a little bit like déjà vu, getting dressed in soft joggers and knocking tentatively on his door. He leans on his good side, rests his weight on the door frame for the seemingly long time it takes for Zayn to answer the door. 

“Come on,” Zayn says, ushering him into the room. It’s bathed in dim light again but there’s no romantic table setting or picturesque view. He glances down at Niall’s knee, as if it should be glowing an angry red or something but Niall just grins. 

“You gotta drink then?” Niall asks him lightly. 

Zayn just smiles. “I think I can manage something better.”

It doesn’t take Niall long to feel buzzed.

Zayn crosses the room slowly, one hand pinched around the glowing tip of a joint and the other settled near his hip. 

“You gonna go out?” he asks, voice smooth like silk. Niall raises his eyebrows and watches as he lifts the hem of his t-shirt. Drags it up over his belly for a moment so Niall can see the quiver of his abdominal muscles as he breathes deeply. 

He looks good. Niall can’t deny it. Even in the foggy distortion of his head. 

“Dunno,” Niall answers and rolls his head back, neck settled against the warm velvet of the chair he’s sprawled across. He’s got his own spliff burning in his left hand but he’s in no hurry. “Depends on what your plans are.”

He straightens his neck, head falling forward until his chin is nearly resting on his breastbone. He might be more fucked than he originally thought. 

Zayn grins at him, rough and slow. 

“Heading out could be fun,” Zayn says and he finally drops his hand, thumbs down the middle of his stomach before he lets it go out of view again. “Could hit the d-floor.”

Niall smiles, mouth forming it a second slower than he thinks about it. His fingers are warm and Niall’s slow to realise that he’s let the weed burn to his knuckle. Neither of them are really dressed to go out; not that that matters anymore. He’s got vague nostalgic memories of the discos they used to go to on Friday nights where they’d all look the same in their uniform of checked shirts and battered brown brogues. His hair used to be heavy with the amount of gel he’d plaster in it.

Now on one hand it doesn’t matter what he wears, but on the other it matters a whole lot more. 

“Could make our own?” Niall answers, too slow. Zayn grins and settles on the edge of the bed, bare feet braced shoulder-width apart. Niall wants to settle between them, curl up there. He could easily go to sleep there, head pillowed against Zayn’s thigh. 

“Yeah,” Zayn laughs quietly, gazing up at him as his thumb pauses on his phone. The glow on it settles on Zayn’s chin, illuminating him from below. Maybe Zayn’s made out of butter. 

Niall smiles to himself and lets his head fall back again. The velvet feels nice against his neck. 

“Don’t think you’d fare too well if we went out.” Zayn says, and he’s suddenly looming above Niall. There’s music now too, something soft with a beat. Niall knows what it is, he’s heard Zayn play it before but he can’t find the name in his head right now. It feels like cotton wool in there. 

“Think you’d fall asleep at the bar.” Zayn lifts what’s left of the joint in his hand out of Niall’s fingers and to his mouth. Niall watches as it flares red, watches as Zayn blinks slowly and the wisps of it escape out of the corner of Zayn’s smile. 

“Nah,” Niall shakes his head even though it’s probably true. Everything inside of him feels _heavy_ , like he could fall asleep right here in the chair. “I’d be dancing the night away.”

Zayn snorts softly, stubs out the joint. “Don’t doubt that, even with your fucked up knee.”

Niall grins at him, feels something flutter in his belly as Zayn holds out a hand. It seems to take an age for him to lift his own hand to meet it but once he does, it’s worth it. 

His hand feels warm where it’s pressed to Zayn and he grins at him as Zayn hauls him to his feet. The carpet feels soft under his bare feet, toes sinking into it. Zayn smells of orange shower gel and smoke when Niall gets up close, one hand curling against Zayn’s neck, just below his hairline and the other one still clasped in Zayn’s hand. 

It feels disjointed, the music not quite matching up to Zayn’s movements as he pulls him into some sort of dance. There’s an ambient beat to it, something that makes him want to lie back and float, let his mind wander and expand with it but it taps into his veins, makes him want to move his foot to the beat of it. 

Zayn must be dancing to a different tune. He curls his fingers into the back of Niall’s tank top, warm and maybe slightly damp after his hasty shower. He draws him in a circle, spins him so Niall sees the door of the bathroom, then the bed, then the chair he had been sitting on through bleary eyes before he sees the light of the bathroom again. 

“Gonna make me sick,” Niall mumbles against Zayn’s shoulder, lips dragging across the collar where Zayn’s collarbones are warm against them. Zayn lifts a hand to Niall’s cheek, it feels like his palm is covering the entire side of his face. Niall nuzzles into it. 

“You make me sick,” Zayn says gently and Niall blinks, world going dark for a moment before he opens his eyes again. Everything is Zayn’s face. It takes up his entire vision. He sees it when Zayn screws up his face, bottom lip pushing out. Niall wants to lick it. Wants to kiss him. Wants to swallows his words. 

“In a good way,” he amends but Niall’s hardly listening to him. He could say anything and Niall wouldn’t care at the moment. He lists forward, cheek coming unstuck from Zayn’s hand for a moment before he catches up to him, thumb sliding over his ear. 

“’m gonna kiss you now,” Niall mumbles, lips getting caught over the words. 

Zayn stares at him. The bathroom light is making Niall’s vision fuzz round the edges. 

He licks his lips carefully. 

It’s better than last time. Slow and languid in ways that Niall always dreams about. Zayn cups his jaw, keeps him from swaying away from him with his hand at the small of his back. 

His tongue feels too big in his mouth so Niall pushes against it, licks it back into Zayn’s mouth. It makes Zayn moan and tighten his grip in Niall’s shirt, stretching it over his stomach until it feels too tight, cutting into his sides and twisting at his ribs. 

He pulls away from Zayn, away from his mouth for a breath until he can catch his hands in the hem of his shirt to pull it over his head. Zayn watches him for a moment, fingers still half tangled in the back of it making it drag over Niall’s shoulders before he catches on and helps him tug it off. He tugs his own off and Niall opens his mouth to say something, explain that his shirt was uncomfortable but Zayn just captures his mouth again, licks at the seams of his lips and kisses him hard. 

The duvet is soft and slippery when Zayn leans him down on it, cool against his shoulders. Zayn sinks to his knees and Niall runs his hand over the shaved sides of head, feels the line where his hair grows longer and twists his fingers into the long top as Zayn pulls his shorts down. 

Niall watches out of drooping eyes as Zayn sucks at his dick. He feels disjointed, like the image doesn’t match up with the dim sparks of pleasure he’s feeling somewhere down near his feet. He blinks, watches as Zayn stretches his mouth around him until he can’t watch any longer, eyes fluttering shut as he sinks into the deep darkness. 

 

Niall’s stomach rolls when he wakes up, almost with a jolt. 

It’s freezing and when he moves his hand he realises it’s because he’s bare arse naked on top of the covers. 

The room spins when he sits up, bathroom light still on and curtains closed tight, blocking out the light from outside, bright enough that Niall knows it’s well into the afternoon. 

Zayn’s passed out to his right, bare back rising slowly with every breath he takes. He’s on his front so Niall can’t really see anything but with the way his trousers are gaping at the back, pulled down enough that Niall can see the crease of his arse he can bet that they’re open. 

“Shit,” Niall swears and his throat is raw, mouth gummy from lying with it open all morning. 

He runs his hand through his hair and tries to fight against the swelling nauseous feeling in his belly, the one that’s normally reserved for fuck-what-did-I-do-last-night panic attacks. 

He pulls on his boxers and his t-shirt. It’s stretched at the back and hangs funny around his belly but Niall doesn’t have time to worry about that. He can’t find his shoes or his key card. He’s got three missed calls and one percent battery so he slides his phone into the waistband of his boxers and stoops over to pull a bottle of beer out of Zayn’s mini bar. His knee is aching. 

Zayn’s phone clatters against the bedside table as it rings on silent. It’s hooked up to a set of speakers and Niall has a flash of Zayn pulling him up to dance. He closes his eyes and savours the first mouthful of beer. 

There’s other flashes too. Flashes he doesn’t want to think about. The way Zayn held him close and how his stubble felt against his jaw, how it felt as he worked his way down Niall’s belly, how it felt as he wrapped his lips around his dick. 

Niall feels a panicked flush creep up his neck. He fell asleep. How the fuck could he fall asleep?

Zayn stirs, rolls over so Niall can see the line of his hips, the flat of his belly and the dark trail of hair down to his dick. He averts his gaze as soon as he realises what he’s doing, dragging his eyeline back up to where Zayn’s waking up. He swats at his phone, making it rock against the glass top again before he blinks slowly up at the ceiling. 

Niall feels panic bubble in his gut. He’s jittery but he forces himself to breathe through his nose, for his hand to unclench around the bottle of beer and to relax into the edge of the dressing table he’s leaning against. His hand skitters over something flat and cool. Key card located, thank fuck. 

“Bro,” Zayn says, voice just as rough. His eyes crinkle and he rolls onto his side, curls a knee up in front of him as he smiles into the wrinkled duvet. “You so owe me one.” 

Niall feels his face flush, feels it right down to his toes. He can’t think of anything to say that won’t make it worse so he just takes another gulp of beer, wetting his sour mouth so he doesn’t have to speak.

Zayn laughs, a huffy, snuffly thing out of his nose and flops back onto the bed, an arm slung over his eyes. Niall takes his chance to slip out the door and escape, barefooted, down the corridor to his own room. 

He feels like a coward and more than a little bit silly for falling asleep. He’d been dying for it, a chance to get to kiss him again and he can feel himself heat up as he thinks of how he’ll probably never get an opportunity again because he’ll never be able to meet his eye. 

Zayn allows him a few hours before he corners him, just enough time to allow Niall to gather a sense of complacency that he won’t broach the subject at all. 

Niall’s washing his hands at the bathroom sink in Schiphol when he spots him over his shoulder in the mirror. It’s small but at least it’s bigger than the tiny bathroom on the plane.

“So, last night?” Zayn asks, once he’s checked that there’s no one else in the stalls and leant up against the door, effectively locking them in. Niall tries to keep his breathing regular as he turns to the hand drier. He sticks his hands under them so he has time to think of his reply. 

Zayn smirks at him when he looks up. 

“What about it?” Niall asks, masking his wince as his voice comes out just a tad squeaky. Zayn smiles again.

“I’m not here to laugh at you,” Zayn says, surprisingly earnest for the grin on his face. He takes a step forward, leaving the door unbarricaded and Niall wonders if any of the others will come and find them. They’re in a tiny private room in the corner of the airport, away from the hustle and bustle of the crowds so he’s not that worried about someone walking in on them, but if someone does, there’s a ninety percent chance that they’ll know who it is. 

“You’re not?” Niall asks because he’s not quite sure if he should believe him. “I’d be taking the piss, if it were me.”

Zayn shrugs. “I think that would be very counterproductive of me.” 

He’s in front of him now, close enough that Niall can smell the sweetness of the weed he must’ve smoked with Louis before they left the hotel. He smells warm too and Niall prefers it to the dry, clinical air conditioning blasting into the airport bathroom. 

“Oh yeah?” Niall asks and he’s breathing that bit harder now, his chest expanding as Zayn takes another step forward. There’s a nervousness buzzing under his skin but it’s more exciting than before; the nerves that were building in his belly turning into something more.

Zayn grins again, a slow twist of his lips and his hand settles on Niall’s waist. Niall pushes his hip into it minutely but he catches the flash of recognition in Zayn’s eyes. 

“Don’t think you’ll make it up to me if I tease you too much,” Zayn mutters, taking the final step towards him to bring them nearly chest to chest. Niall inhales as he presses close. 

He kisses him slowly, with a cheeky afterthought of tongue, but Niall falls for it, lists easily into him while reaching up to pull him closer with a hand at the nape of his neck. 

There’s a part of him that registers the door to the bathroom over Zayn’s shoulder and he knows they should move now before they get caught but there’s a bubble of illicit excitement there at the prospect of being caught wrapped around Zayn like this. 

The hand dryer exploding to life beside Niall’s ear makes them jump apart, Niall’s lips bruised and out of breath. 

“We should -” Niall starts because they should be boarding soon, he isn’t sure how long they’ve spent in the bathroom already. 

“After you make it up to me,” Zayn says, eyes flitting down to Niall’s lips. Niall licks them instinctively, grinning when Zayn groans. His hand’s sweaty when he grabs it, tugging him into the first stall opposite the sinks. It’s tight and Niall takes a breath, closes his eyes and tries not to fall over the toilet as Zayn squeezes the door closed behind them. 

“It’s not really the most sexy of places,” Niall comments but leans in to kiss him anyway. He can feel Zayn’s smile against his mouth as he opens up to him, stubble rubbing at his chin. 

“Just think of it as if you’re joining the mile high club,” Zayn tells him, pulling away roughly to tug at Niall’s coat and t-shirt. They don’t have time to take it off, or the space, so Zayn just bites at a spot that can be covered up easily again. 

“Hmm,” Niall tries to play along but Zayn’s teeth skim back up over his pulse point and he’s finding it hard to keep up. He runs his fingers through Zayn’s hair, feeling out how soft it is. “Thought it would be a bit more glam than a sterile toilet.”

Zayn pulls away from him, one hand spanning the side of his jaw. He thumbs over Niall’s bottom lip. 

“I think it makes it a bit more exciting, do you not?” 

“I never knew you were such an exhibitionist,” Niall mutters, hooking a hand into Zayn’s waistband. It stops whatever retort Zayn was going to give and Niall grins, finally gaining the upper hand as he undoes his zip. 

The tiled floor is killer on his knees and he knows he should really take his weight off it but Zayn just drops onto the closed toilet seat with a gasp. 

“Freezing,” he mutters, sliding a hand into Niall’s hair and guiding him back to his lap. Niall shakes his head and snorts against Zayn’s stomach. He can see his dick poking up through his boxers and the entire situation is bonkers. 

“This is disgusting,” Niall tells him, just to make sure Zayn’s aware, before he starts to laugh again. 

“We’ll add it to the list of things we’re never telling anyone about,” Zayn replies, shuffling his bum to get into a more comfortable position. “Blowjobs in toilets, falling asleep during sex and breaking beds.”

“Breaking beds?” Niall asks, hand paused against Zayn’s belly. Zayn flashes him a smile. 

“I have plans,” he promises. “It’ll happen at some point.”

Niall nods, glancing down. He’s getting giggly again, like he can’t meet Zayn’s eyes or he’ll start to laugh, but looking at his dick isn’t making it particularly better either. He gives in and laughs to himself before opening up Zayn’s jeans properly, pushing at the waistband of his underwear so Zayn’s dick is out of his clothes. 

He’s hard against his tongue, slightly salty in a way that’s vaguely familiar to Niall. He hasn’t done this in a while but it comes back to him easily; where to put his teeth and where to put his tongue. He pushes one hand up Zayn’s stomach, fingers slipping up under his t-shirt to keep it out of the way. His jacket makes it dark and there’s a faux intimacy there that makes Niall forget that he’s kneeling in a gross airport bathroom. 

He goes by Zayn’s breathing at first until he starts to make more noise, little grunts of pleasure that make Niall want to preen under his warm hand where it’s stroking steadily against the back of his neck. 

“Niall,” Zayn groans and his name like this makes Niall want to moan right back to him. He flattens his tongue in response, hollows his cheeks and takes him to the back of his throat. “Fuck,” Zayn babbles above him and when Niall flicks his eyes up he can see how he’s got his eyes closed, head bent back so Niall can see the sharp point of his Adam’s apple. He can also see the corner of the toilet roll dispenser and it ruins the moment a bit but when he focuses back on Zayn’s warm skin and the way his dick kicks against the rough roof of his mouth he forgets all about it again. 

Niall swallows, breathes quickly through his nose and tries not to choke. Zayn swears above him again and when Niall blinks the wetness in his eyes spills out over his cheeks. 

“Niall,” Zayn says, voice becoming more urgent. Niall blinks his eyes open and Zayn’s swung his head round to look down at him, face pink and eyes fluttering with every sweep of Niall’s tongue. “I’m gonna come, gonna come.”

Niall wants to laugh because he’s said it twice but he manages not to, pulling back a little bit so Zayn doesn’t choke him as he starts to come. 

It’s the worst time for the bathroom door to swing open. Niall panics, choking loudly as he pulls back. Zayn smacks one hand to his own mouth and the other against the side of Niall’s head, making him inhale sharply. 

“Niall? Zayn?” Liam’s voice sounds out from the other side of the stall. Niall freezes. If Liam was to bend down he’d easily see his knees and feet.

He should swallow, he _wants_ to swallow, but the longer the mouthful of spunk sits on his tongue the more his throat protests. He gags a bit, eyes watering.

“You guys in here?” Liam asks. Zayn’s hand is still pressed to his mouth and Niall can see with the way his eyes are crinkling up that he’s one second away from bursting into laughter. Niall feels sick. 

There’s another voice and Niall tries to calm himself down enough to swallow. He can’t hear what Liam says, his voice faint through the pounding of blood through his ear. He leans his head into the crease of Zayn’s hip, huffs a breath through his nose and finally gets his throat to work. 

“They’re gone,” Zayn whispers, one hand threading into the back of Niall’s hair. When he looks up Zayn gives him a half sympathetic look but there’s amusement layered beneath it too. 

“Fuck you,” Niall croaks and pulls a face. “I’m going to vomit.”

“Don’t pretend you didn’t like it,” Zayn laughs and reaches down, brushes the back of his hand against where Niall’s still nearly hard in his pants. Niall shakes his head and leans up, elbows on each of Zayn’s knees to kiss him. 

“Uh, no,” Zayn shakes his head, dodging out of the way. “Not until you’ve brushed your teeth.”

“I hate you,” Niall tells him, not serious at all. 

“We better go,” Zayn comments lightly. Niall glares at him. Maybe he should be serious about hating him.

“And what am I meant to do?” he asks as Zayn stands up, tucks himself neatly back into his jeans. 

Zayn grins down at him, eyes twinkling. “See you on the plane.”

Niall’s mouth drops open as Zayn manoeuvres his way around him, hip brushing up against Niall’s front as he gets the door open. 

“Don’t be too long or I’ll have to send someone in for you again,” Zayn mutters, leaning in for a quick peck on the mouth. Niall follows his mouth for it, tries to make it go deeper, tries to pull him back into the cubicle with him but Zayn dances out of his grip, leaving him and his boner in the toilets in peace. 

 

*

London’s hot for once and it’s adding to Niall’s mood. He’s light headed from his pints of Pimm’s down at Wimbledon and the beer he and Liam had at dinner but Liam’s out with Sophia now and Niall’s got nothing planned. Everyone thinks he’s still on tour, the two days he’s got off hardly long enough for Niall to make proper plans. Eoghan’s busy and Laura’s away with work. Bressie’s back in Dublin and it crosses his mind that he could fly home and see him there but just thinking about it makes him feel tired. He doesn’t want to spend the last few hours of daylight travelling anyway, he wants to be in a beer garden with a pint in his hand. 

Willie laughs at him in the back of the car as Niall leaves a slightly tipsy voicemail for Zayn and then drags his hand away from his ear just before Niall goes into a very detailed description of what he wants him for - namely that blowjob that he‘s owed. 

It’s not that they’re keeping it a secret but Willie’s the only one that Niall’s told. He had snorted and shook his head before dragging him into a hug and told him to be careful. Niall appreciates it but he can’t imagine a world where Zayn would hurt him. 

“Don’t wait up on me,” Willie calls from the patio doors, because he’s ditching Niall too. Niall waves a hand at him. He’s called it a day on his beer garden aspirations and decided just to take a beer to his own garden. 

He must doze off because when he next blinks his eyes open the sun is a few inches further down in the sky and he has a Zayn curled under his arm. 

“When di’you get here?” Niall asks, blinking the groggy sleep out of his eyes. Zayn just smiles and rests his chin on Niall’s chest. He’s got sunglasses on but Niall can see his eyes through them because he’s this close. 

“Bout a half hour ago,” Zayn says, chin moving against the buttons of Niall’s shirt. Niall rests his head back on the lawn and blinks up at the sky. He’s got the bottle of beer resting under his armpit, miraculously unspilt. 

“Not busy?” Niall asks. The voicemail had been a longshot. He hadn’t really expected Zayn to appear here. 

“Don’t think they’ll miss me,” Zayn answers. Niall suspects ‘they’ is his mum and dad and Niall feels himself roll his eyes. Of course they will. He opens his mouth to say it too but Zayn looms up then, hands resting on either side of Niall’s ears and kisses him before Niall can start any more conversations. 

He knows he’s been with his mum then, with the taste of orange and spice on his tongue. Niall can see him lying out in his back garden, sisters squabbling around him, the novelty of being home already wearing thin. Niall wants to brush his teeth, suddenly conscious of his long nap probably with his mouth open and all the wheaty beer he’s been glugging all day long. But he can’t be bothered, not when Zayn settles against him, rocking him into the cool of the lawn and Niall knows that the shirt is ruined, streaked with green grass stains across the shoulders. 

“How could I miss this?” Zayn asks, pulling away an inch. Niall breathes into Zayn’s mouth and pushes up to kiss him, hand sliding into his hair that’s soft without all the product he wears out of the house. He looks soft, like he’s spent all day pottering around home with his mum doing everything for him. 

“I’m just very missable,” Niall tells him half seriously when Zayn pulls away again. Niall follows his lips but Zayn laughs against him, nose scrunching and he sits up, legs straddling across Niall’s waist. It makes the breath punch out of him, Zayn looks good like this and he half hopes the neighbours will see. 

“Kissable you mean,” Zayn corrects him softly, voice oozing out of him and Niall nearly melts into the ground there and then, disappears into the water table to sprout up as some very enthusiastic daisies in the spring. 

“So smooth,” Niall says, only half taking the piss. Zayn grins at him before settling down again, kissing Niall into the grass until they’re both breathing hard through their noses. Niall’s hard and he manages to work his hips up into Zayn’s in such a way that the friction blooms across his belly. 

“Want you,” Zayn whispers against his lips. “Can’t stop thinking about you.”

Niall feels punch drunk off the sun and the way Zayn keeps raking his eyes over him. 

“Wanna kiss you all the time,” Niall tells him honestly. They’re out in the open but Niall’s never felt closer to anyone before. He slides his hand down Zayn’s side, drags his fingers across the exposed skin at the base of his back, dips them into his waistband. “Want you naked.”

Zayn exhales against him, Niall can’t feel a millimetre of space between them, pressed this tight together. He loves it. He doesn’t know why people ever walk around not attached to Zayn. 

“I wanna -” Zayn breathes and freezes, mouth snapping shut. Niall stops his hand where it’s halfway down the back of Zayn’s pants. Zayn’s eyes duck down and there’s an embarrassed blush creeping up over his cheeks. Niall sweeps his hand up his back in a calm motion. 

“What is it?” Niall asks, turning his head so his nose catches the side of Zayn’s face. He keeps it there, pressing in to butt at his cheek. Zayn shies away and he’s back to being nervous again. 

“Do you,” Zayn says quietly. Niall can feel when he takes in a deep breath. “I want -”

“Spit it out.” Niall clenches his teeth into a grin. Zayn’s quietness is making him nervous. 

“I think I want to fuck you,” Zayn whispers, like he’s sharing a secret. Zayn’s eyes are wide and open when Niall rears his head back, like he can’t believe he actually said that, but he’s gauging Niall’s reaction, waiting for him to freak out. 

Niall’s stomach jerks because he hadn’t been expecting it. It’s not that he hadn’t thought about it, fleetingly without any meaning behind it, but a mismatched pair of blowjobs between them isn’t exactly a lot of practise. Niall already feels like he knows Zayn so well--this isn’t a normal get-to-know-each-other period at the beginning of a relationship--but Zayn’s words still make him jolt. It’s straight in at the deep end.

“Say something,” Zayn says, not yet demanding but there’s an edge to it, as if he’s already regretting opening his mouth. 

“Right now?” Niall asks because the thought of it makes him sort of turned on but mostly panicked. He needs to prepare for that sort of thing, he should probably shower, have another drink, maybe give it a bit of a Google to be on the safe side. 

Zayn noses at Niall’s chin. “Whenever you want, just putting it out there.” 

“We haven’t -” Niall starts because he’s trying to get his mind up to speed. He’s still hard, even with all the heavy thinking he’s doing upstairs. “How about we just head inside and see where we end up?”

Zayn smiles at him, bright and slightly relieved that Niall isn’t kicking him out probably. Niall’s starting to get that Zayn possibly hadn’t meant to bring it up in the first place. He pulls him up, blush still high on his cheeks. Niall hooks his hand into Zayn’s fingers, leads him through the house. He pauses in the kitchen for a glass of water because he’s getting dry mouth and Zayn watches him fondly, leant up against the cooker with his hand still intertwined with Niall’s. 

He follows him obediently to the bedroom and it’s only then that Niall remembers that Zayn’s never been here before. He spares a thought for how Zayn got through his complicated security system but Zayn kisses up the back of his neck so he loses interest in everything that isn’t Zayn’s hands travelling south and his lips sucking on his ear. 

It’s ridiculous how pleased Niall is just to be at home, to have Zayn in his actual bed. That there’s no one in the house to bother them, no generic curtains and gold duvet that seems to be in every hotel room they go to. Instead, Niall pushes Zayn down into the soft, blue sheets that _he_ picked out and into the mattress that Niall tested in the shop; bounce-worthy, squeak-resistant and one hundred percent made for him. 

“You’re so hot,” Niall whispers, running his lips over a patch of sun-blushed skin on Zayn’s collarbone. 

Zayn throws him a smug grin and Niall laughs, popping a few more buttons on his shirt. “Alright, big head.”

Zayn smirks and reaches to settle his hands on Niall’s hips. “You wanna roll over?” 

Niall looks up and Zayn very deliberately glances down to where Niall’s favouring his left knee. He hadn’t even noticed he was doing it but even though they’re on the soft duvet cover of his own bed it’s still scary to put his full weight on it. 

Zayn doesn’t wait any longer for an answer, just uses his leverage to pull Niall down onto the bed beside him, turning onto his side so he can kiss him again, lick across the seam of his mouth and pull him close. Niall lies back, shimmies down the bed a bit as Zayn trails his lips over his skin, pushing his shirt off his shoulder and following with his mouth. He noses down his bicep, in across his armpit and licks across his chest. Niall keeps one hand in Zayn’s hair, gently holding him close as he starts to suck on one of Niall’s nipples. 

It’s never really done anything for him before but Zayn swirls his tongue around it until it hardens in his mouth and sends little shocks across the breadth of his shoulders every time Zayn’s teeth graze across it. 

“Fuck,” Niall breathes up towards his ceiling, a slow inhale that he breathes out to keep his cool. One of Zayn’s hands is low on his stomach, thumb rubbing across the trail of hair under his belly button and it’s maddening, it winds him up from the inside out and Niall wants to touch, to be touched, wants anything and everything. 

“C’mon,” Zayn breathes against his damp nipples, blowing cool air over them to make Niall shudder again. He taps at his hip and Niall lifts them so Zayn can yank his trousers and boxers off in one go. “Promise not to fall asleep again?” 

“ _Yes,_ “ Niall groans. Zayn will never let him live that one down. Right now, he’s keyed up, more than ready for whatever Zayn is going to do to him. 

“Love how red you get,” Zayn comments and he pops back into Niall’s vision, naked to match Niall. He leans down to kiss him again, searing hot before he pulls away to suck on his shoulder. He’ll have to stick to t-shirts for a while but he doesn’t care, he wants Zayn to mark his skin, like proof that he was actually there, so he keeps a hand on the nape of Zayn’s neck to make sure he knows how much he likes it. 

Zayn has his thumb pressed to his hip and Niall’s skin blanches around it, showing how red he was in the first place. Niall’s face just flushes more and he rolls his hips up unashamedly. 

“Get to it,” he orders and Zayn gives him a smile, tongue pressed to the back of his teeth, one of those smiles that makes Niall want to smile back. 

“Patience,” Zayn says wisely, bending down to sweep his tongue from his bellybutton down his tummy. “Want to explore you.”

Niall shivers at that. Niall wants to explore too, wants to feel out every inch of Zayn’s skin, find out what makes him tick.

“Bon voyage,” Niall mutters and falls back into his pillows with a thump. He can feel Zayn laugh against the crease of his hip and it makes him wriggle, one leg spreading out as an invitation. 

Zayn’s tongue is soft and wet as it swirls down his skin. He smooches three wet kisses down Niall’s abdomen, noses through the patch of hair there before licking his way up the underside of his dick. 

“Yeah,” Niall sighs. He can’t keep his hands off him, the skin of his scalp warm under the pads of Niall’s fingertips. Zayn stays there a moment, lapping against the sensitive head of Niall’s dick for a moment to make him squirm before he pulls away and continues his way down, tongue sweeping into the dip of his groin, cheek rubbing ticklish against the side of his balls. 

“No, no,” Niall moans and tries to pull Zayn back to where his dick has curved up against his belly. “Come back.”

He can feel where Zayn laughs against his thigh, the wet spot lighting up under the cool of his breath. He keeps going, mapping his way down the inside of Niall’s leg, hand gentle at the back of his knee. He eases his knee up gently and Niall’s breath catches when he looks down and sees Zayn’s careful expression as he moves his leg. 

“It’s ok,” Niall manages to say but Zayn just blinks up at him, quietly pressing his lips to the ugly scar that runs down across his knee. “Uh, fuck,” Niall can’t help mumble, making Zayn smile, curve of his smile against his knee cap. It’s incredibly sweet, in amongst the heady arousal Niall’s feeling.

“It’s pretty cool, y’know,” Zayn says, cocking his head to the side, like he‘s viewing it as a piece of art. “Badass scar.”

Niall smiles at him and wiggles his leg in the air for a moment. “You know what else is badass?” 

Zayn laughs, dips his head and Niall doesn’t even have to give him a cheesy punch line because Zayn closes his lips around the tip of his dick instead, enveloping him in his hot mouth.

Zayn gives head lazily, one hand spread out on Niall’s tummy and the other hooked under Niall’s knee. He moves him easily, mouth tight around his dick, tongue working over the crown as he slips his shoulder under Niall’s thigh. 

It makes him feel so much more open, legs stretched apart as Zayn licks down to the base of his dick and drags his lips up the length of him again. He jacks him off slowly, fingers slick with his spit and every drip of pre-come that’s leaking out Niall’s dick. He’s so hard he’s tight with it, muscles wound up until he’s clenching against every touch Zayn gives him. 

“Love seeing you like this,” Zayn finally breaks his silence, bottom lip pressed against the tip of Niall’s dick. He rolls his thumb, drags a bit of Niall’s foreskin where it’s stretched around the top of his dick. He’s playing now, his free hand disappearing under Niall to rub at the space behind his balls. 

“Sh-it,” Niall swears, arching up from the bed. The sheet comes with him, sticking to his sweaty back and he grunts as Zayn’s fingers slip from his perineum and into the crack of his arse. 

It’s a tiny, tiny taste of what it would be like but it makes Niall’s imagination run wild, vivid images of Zayn fingering him open, licking between his knuckles or fucking him. He can nearly hear the squelch of lube and the smack of his balls against his arse. 

He’s coming before he can stop himself, splattering come up over Zayn’s lips and chin, dribbling over his knuckles and onto his own belly. 

“Fuck, sorry,” Niall apologises but it’s reflex because he can’t find the space in his head to mean it, he’s too buzzed, muscles contracting pleasantly. Zayn shakes his head, smears his lips over the top of Niall’s still smarting dick before he licks his hand clean. If Niall could come again, he would. 

“It’s ok,” Zayn says and then laughs. He lets Niall’s leg down carefully before climbing up the bed on top of him. Niall lets him, welcomes the weight on top of chest because it means he gets to kiss him again, mouth feeling empty all this time that he hasn’t had anything to do with it. 

Zayn grinds against him, head of his dick slippery against the cut of Niall’s hips and it’s easy to pull him closer with a hand to his waist, urging him to thrust down against him again and again. 

“Yes,” Zayn breaks away to hiss against Niall’s ear, breath hot. His skin is hot too where Niall claws at him, eager to get as much as he can under his palms at once. There’s a sheen of sweat gathered at the small of his back and Niall keeps his hand there as Zayn cants his hips against Niall’s, grinds messily against him as he starts to come against his stomach. Niall wonders what if would feel like to have it drip between his legs, drip out of him onto the sheets. 

“Fuck,” he says out loud and Zayn murmurs in agreement, even though he’s agreeing to something else completely. Niall pats at his shoulder as everything settles, his heartbeat calming as he catches his breath. 

“Am I allowed to fall asleep now?” Niall asks and he’s already half gone, voice dragging with drowsiness. Zayn laughs and rolls to his side, they’re sticky but Niall doesn’t care so he curls into Zayn’s side again, dragging the corner of the duvet over them so they don’t freeze. 

“Yeah,” Zayn murmurs, pulling an arm around Niall’s shoulder. He still smells nice, of oranges and clean sweat. “I’ll be here in the morning.”

*

It’s nice to have Zayn in his house, even if it’s only for a short time before they go back on tour. It feels like they’ve escaped off on a dirty weekend somewhere except it’s much more homely. Willie gives them space, nipping in just as Niall’s hoaking round the fridge for breakfast to grab a change of clothes before disappearing back out to his girlfriend’s. Zayn looks a bit startled at the kitchen table, shirtless and in a pair of Niall’s tiniest black boxers. Niall did that on purpose, not that he’ll tell Zayn, throwing him a pair that he knew would show off what little of Zayn’s arse there is. 

Zayn helps him whisk eggs and watches as he fries bacon and mushrooms. He nabs a piece out of the pan and bites a bit off the end. Niall has to send him a look, Zayn’s usually the one that gives him shit for lying in interviews but here he is painting his kettle black. 

“Gonna tell your mum,” Niall teases him shoving four slices of bread into the toaster. 

Zayn shrugs. “Like she’ll believe you.”

It feels very much like they’re relearning how to live with each other. Tour living isn’t the same as making yourself at home. Zayn walks around half-naked and barefoot, messy-haired and soft-eyed when he laughs at something Niall has said. He lets Niall play the football loudly on the TV in both the kitchen _and_ the living room and kisses him up against the mirror outside the door to the bathroom as Gary Lineker gives his sunburnt opinion over the Bose sound system Niall’s rigged up in every room. 

It’s slightly unsettling when he does things that Niall had forgotten he used to do, like set his tea on the corner of the coffee table until he can drink it in one gulp or eat all the chocolate off a Twix bar before the biscuit and then lick the caramel off his fingers where it’s melted into the crevices of his hands. It all makes sense once he does it again and Niall wonders how he had forgotten in the first place. 

It’s not as sunny the next day so they don’t go out, they lie on the floor in the middle of Niall’s living room, running their hands through the soft wool rug Bobby had bought him as a housewarming gift before moving their fingers to each other. 

Niall’s hand sweeps up the back of Zayn’s thigh, finger tips pushing into the swell of Zayn’s arse until Zayn gives up and drags his palm down the front of Niall’s groin. 

“You’re mad for it,” Niall tells him fondly and Zayn just smiles at him, leaning in for another kiss. 

They make dinner together, Niall chopping and Zayn manning the stove. They drink some fancy wine Niall was given as a gift until Niall’s tongue feels furry and he has four glasses of ice water with the curry Zayn’s made to even it out. 

“You need to go back to yours and pack?” Niall asks later, in the middle of the night. They’re back in bed, curled in the middle of the mattress. Niall has the sheets kicked off because Zayn’s skin is hot against his, a man-made radiator right beside him. 

“Nope,” Zayn says quietly, shaking his head so his nose rubs maddeningly at a spot under Niall’s chin. “I’m sure I’ll manage.”

Niall laughs and drags his fingers up Zayn’s shoulder. They should shower before they fall asleep, Niall can feel a sticky slop of come where Zayn jizzed between his thighs about half an hour ago but he doesn’t want to move, comfy where he is pressed up against Zayn. He swirls his fingers, scritching them along his neck to make Zayn squirm a bit.

“You’ll pack enough for me anyway,” Zayn says, muffling a yawn into Niall’s throat before he kisses him there. His hands aren’t as slow as they sweep up his belly and torso to rest against his sternum. 

“Oh yeah?” Niall asks and fight against his drooping eyelids. He hears Zayn snuffle a laugh and then he’s kissing him again, slow and warm, and Niall decides that he could get used to this. 

He can feel his dick stirring again and he wonders somewhere in the back of his mind how far they can push it today. He can’t get the image out of his head of Zayn fucking into him, filling him up. He got a little bit of it earlier, with every thrust of Zayn’s hips against his but it’s not enough, he wants it all. 

Zayn laughs against his collarbone, nose cold against where Niall’s already breaking out in a sweat. 

“Who’s gagging for it now?” Zayn asks. He sweeps a hand down Niall’s side, making him roll his hips up with it, chasing the heat of his palm. He already chubbing up, dick red and maybe angry looking against his thigh. 

“Can’t help it,” Niall replies and his stomach twists as he tries to gather up the courage to ask for what he wants. Zayn quirks his eyebrows at him and Niall knows he’s not doing a great job at hiding his trepidation. 

“What is it?” Zayn asks, tone changing from playful to gentle. His hand is still stroking down over his side. Niall hooks his fingers into Zayn’s other wrist, where he’s propped up on his elbow beside him. He looks so careful and it makes Niall pause, really take in the expression on Zayn’s face as he waits patiently on him. Niall wants to cover his face, he isn’t sure why.

“Just thinking,” Niall mumbles. He wants to kiss Zayn so he’ll forget about it, end the night with another blow job and then sleep because they have to be up early in the morning. 

“Trouble,” Zayn mutters and dips down to kiss him anyway. Niall sighs into it, sliding his fingers down into Zayn’s palm so he’ll catch the hint and interlock them. Zayn’s other hand pauses on his thigh, creeps up to his knee to push to the side so there’s space between his knees for him. 

“I -” Niall says when they break apart. He takes a deep breath but says nothing. He doesn’t know why he’s having so much trouble, normally Niall asks for whatever he wants in bed. He has the irrational idea that Zayn’s going to panic if he asks him though, maybe laugh at him which is ridiculous because it’s _Zayn_. Zayn who is first and foremost his best mate and would never make him feel like that. He’s shown as much the whole weekend, being perfectly loving and attentive with Niall as if they’d been at this for years. Niall quite likes the thought of that, being with Zayn until he knows everything about him, inside out.

Zayn’s hand skimming up the inside of his thigh distracts him, pads of his fingers barely touching him. It makes Niall even more sensitive, hyper-aware of how slow his hand is travelling and where it’s going to end up. 

“You sure?” Zayn asks and Niall’s shoulders relax, melting into the pillow behind him because it’s as if Zayn’s read his mind. “Want me to fuck you? Want me in you?”

“Fuck,” Niall swears. He doesn’t know how Zayn makes it sound so easy. He leans in and presses against his lips again. Yes, that’s exactly what he wants. “Yeah, there’s lube somewhere.”

Niall rolls out from beneath him easily, stretching across the bed to his bedside table. He finds a box of condoms and chucks them over his shoulder in the direction of where he’s left Zayn and keeps his hand buried in the drawer.

“Oh, fuck,” Niall squawks when he feels Zayn’s tongue on his arse when he isn’t expecting it, fist smacking off the top of the drawer. 

“Not good?” Zayn asks immediately and there’s that careful tone edging it again. Niall pauses to catch his breath. He isn’t sure, it’s odd and he’s not sure if he likes Zayn’s mouth there. It makes him feel small and at his mercy. 

“Um, not sure,” Niall answers honestly because there’s no point pretending at this point. He blinks, eyes going fuzzy with tiredness and being this close to the lamp on his bedside table. He feels the first touch of Zayn’s thumb, dry against his hole and he clenches up involuntarily. 

“You sure about this?” Zayn asks him quietly, setting his lips to the flesh of his bum cheek. Niall takes another breath. His hand is still in the drawer, curled around the bottle of lube that’s been there since Christmas and the last time he had any regular action in the bedroom. The memory makes his stomach roll, not in a completely bad way. He can’t picture the guy’s face, just remembers how he’d been wearing a red jumper with a snowman on it and laughed a lot into Niall’s ear as they fumbled with slick, slippery fingers. It had been the other way round then, but just as nerve-wracking. 

He could easily lie and say that he can’t find it and that would be that, Zayn would roll away and Niall could suck him off before burrowing down to sleep but he has a flash of heat in his spine as Zayn’s thumb rubs over him again, knees widening of their own accord and he pushes his nose against a roll of duvet where it’s come away from the bed, inhales deeply and imagines being fucked into the mattress.

“Yeah, positive,” Niall says because he is. He wants this. He wants Zayn to do this with him. He squeezes the bottle in his hand and then rolls over, knee knocking against Zayn’s chest as he peers across the bed at him. He looks far away on the other side of the kingsize mattress. Niall could probably fit the five of them on here. He shakes his head to get rid of that mental image because as much as he loves the band, there’s only one of them he wants in his head while he does this. 

Zayn takes the bottle from him with a solemn expression on his face and Niall’s suddenly hit with how he doesn’t want this to be so serious. He reaches forward and kisses Zayn gently. 

“Don’t be so worried,” he whispers against his lips and Niall wishes maybe that he had taken Zayn up on his offer to put on a playlist, hook it up to the speakers in the ceiling. He smiles at him and kisses him again, chastely, once. “I want this. You won’t fuck up.”

“Great pep talk,” Zayn comments but leans away, slithers down the bed a bit and pops the cap of the lube. The sound makes Niall’s stomach churn, makes it feel a bit more real. He swallows round the dryness in his throat and tries to relax, shimmies his arse against the sheets and props his feet up, he‘s already starting to sweat behind his knees. 

“I can cheerlead if you want,” Niall offers, the inexplicable need to make a joke driving him to it. He grins at him and raises his arms into the air above his chest, shakes his invisible pom poms. “Give me a F, give me a I, give me a N -”

“Alright, alright,” Zayn laughs softly. “So bloody dirty-minded, aren‘t you?”

Niall grins, shrugs his shoulders against the ruined sheets below him. “I’m Irish.”

“Don’t I fucking know it,” Zayn murmurs to himself and sits up to study his hands seriously as he drizzles lube over them. Niall watches him, the light catching the slick as he coats his fingers. Zayn takes a deep breath, naked shoulders rising and there’s a flash of that serious, solemn expression again.

“You done this before?” Niall can’t help but ask. He’s disappointed in himself the moment he says it because he doesn’t want Zayn to think that he doesn’t trust him. 

Zayn gives him a long look that Niall tries to read.

“Yeah,” is all he says before he rolls onto his side, getting comfortable beside Niall’s hip. Niall nods, doesn’t ask him to elaborate because he can’t go there, not when they’re about to do this. Zayn gives him another look, eyebrows up and he taps at his hip, urging him onto his side. Niall follows his orders, settling onto his side and pushing his right leg out in front of him. He takes a breath, forcing himself to relax as Zayn’s slippery fingers circle up over his hole. 

It takes a moment to get used to it, the oddness of Zayn’s finger breaching him like that. He’s tried it a few times before on his own but Zayn’s finger goes in at the perfect angle, stretching him out properly. Zayn rubs his thumb around his rim and it’s maddening. Niall’s not sure if he’s doing it to soothe him or tease. 

The downside of this angle means that he can’t see Zayn’s face. His neck hurts from turning to look at him but it’s all heightened sensation when he presses his cheek to the cool of the sheets and stares at his radiator across the room. Next time he’s going to lie on the opposite of the bed and maybe he could catch Zayn in the reflection of the mirror. _Next time_. That makes his head reel because he never thought they’d be in a position where there would be a next time. 

Niall isn’t even sure what sound comes out of his mouth, breath punched out of him as Zayn rubs up against something inside him that makes Niall’s blood light up. He closes his eye and sees the orange orb of the lamp ingrained in the black of his eyelids, flaring white when he does it again. 

“You ok?” Zayn asks and he sounds far away. Niall nods, fists his fingers in the duvet and stretches his leg out again, he hadn’t realised he had pulled them together, trapping Zayn’s hand between them until he’d gently patted against the back of his thigh to get his attention. 

Zayn doesn’t move his hand and it’s a slow burning torture. He struggles to catch his breath, like he’s been hysterically crying it hiccups out of him.

“I’m gonna -” Zayn’s voice cuts through the fog in Niall’s head. He shudders, dislodging Zayn’s finger a little and it’s a whole new sensation, the fact that he can move and make himself feel good. Zayn speaks quietly again, soft and gentle. If Niall wasn‘t in sensory overload, he‘d laugh at how simple he was being. “I’m gonna need you to tell me. Say something Niall.”

“Yeah,” Niall finally manages to spit out, hair mussing against the pillow. “Feels good.”

“Ok,” Zayn answers, moving his fingers again. There’s a slow, numb burn as Zayn pushes in a second finger. Niall breathes out again and it’s loud, harsh against his own ears but it’s the only way he can breathe now. 

“Good,” Niall reassures Zayn before he has to ask. He can’t see him but the way he stills his hands feels massive, like how a bump on your tongue feels huge against your teeth because it’s your tongue but when you look in the mirror it’s only a tiny spot, barely there.

Zayn’s lips land on his bum cheek again and Niall gasps, pushing up against the double sensation of his teeth scraping against his skin and the in, out of his fingers. 

“More,” Niall moans before he realises he’s doing it, the filter between his mouth and his brain completely gone. Zayn laughs, breath ghosting over the cold slick between his arse and Niall full body shivers. He feels wet and open but it‘s good, so, so good. 

“Ok,” Zayn says and there’s a tremor in his voice that Niall barely notices. He’s a step away from whining to get him to get a move on. “Third one.” 

Niall gasps. It’s overwhelming to think that Zayn has his fingers in him. He can hear his throat working as he remembers to breathe, the rasp of his breath as he sucks it in through his nose and breathes it through his teeth.

His mouth drops open as Zayn brushes up against his prostate again, fingers skimming up against it. He rolls fully onto his front, saliva soaking into the duvet at his mouth. He pushes his hips against the mattress, seeking out any friction he can get and it’s the first moment that he’s aware of how hard he is, hot and wet as he pushes into the pillow below him. It’s all extra sensation, piled on top of the zinging pleasure that’s happening behind him. 

Zayn kisses the skin of his hip again, his other hand coming up to press down against the base of his spine. It makes his toes curl, one leg coming up into the air on its own. 

He’s gasping, eyes screwed shut because when he opens them it’s a blur of the bedside lamp. 

“Fuck me,” he moans into the duvet. He can’t take waiting any longer. “Now, Zayn, please.”

“Shit,” Zayn mumbles and suddenly Niall’s clenching down on air. He groans, chokes a bit on the empty feeling but there’s a buzz settling in his gut, even though he’s squeezing down on nothing. 

Zayn’s laugh sounds slightly hysterical. “My hands are too slippy, fucking condom wrapper.”

“Do it without it,” Niall slurs and he hadn’t even realised that was something he had wanted before now. To feel _Zayn_ with nothing between them. He groans again.

He’s delirious with it, so hard that he could probably come untouched at this point. He hardly takes in the room spinning around him as Zayn pulls at his shoulder, half onto his back to meet his face. 

“Niall,” he says very seriously and Niall gasps a breath. He wants to kiss him. He paws at Zayn’s shoulder to get him to come closer but Zayn resists him, meeting him squarely in the face.

“You being serious?” Zayn asks. He looks wrecked, eyes blown out, and Niall can’t care about how he looks to Zayn. He feels completely fucked out, mindless with it. 

“Yeah,” Niall gasps. His dick throbs, lying heavy because he’s twisted on his side. “Come on.” 

“Niall,” Zayn says quietly, leaning down on an elbow to kiss him and Niall groans into it, finally getting something to do with his mouth. “I’m clean,” Zayn murmurs against his lips when he pulls back. His arm brushes against his dick and Niall bites his lip, tugs it between his teeth before he can answer. 

“So am I, you know I am.” And he does, Niall can never keep a secret if he had anything, he’d find it too self-deprecatingly funny. Zayn gives him a final look, tongue dragging wetly over his bottom lip and Niall moans, shameless to grab his attention back. 

“Right,” Zayn says and cups his hand around his dick, smearing sticky slick up over it. Niall rolls back onto his front, hissing as his dick rubs against the covers again. He’ll have to wash them himself so Willie doesn’t take the piss out of him for a month. 

Zayn hooks a finger into his hole again, smearing more wet there before he lines himself up. Niall can feel it, tell the difference instantly between the smear of his fingers and the blunt of his dick. It makes him gasp and when he closes his eyes he can nearly imagine it, snubbed up against his rim, all red and open. He opens his mouth, works his lips against the damp cover as Zayn pushes into him. 

“Fuck,” Zayn swears out of his breath, elongating the word until it doesn’t sound like anything at all. Niall agrees but he can’t get his throat to work, breath caught up at the top of his chest and teeth gritted together against the stretch. It doesn’t hurt for long, not really, the burn moulding itself into intense heat as Zayn keeps going. 

Zayn gets a hand on his hip, pulling him up to a better angle and Niall can feel it in his shoulders, the stretch of it making the muscles of his back go taut, his thighs tremble as he tries to hold his weight and carry Zayn’s as well. His dick hangs heavy between his legs and he wants to touch himself, fuck into his fist as Zayn drags out again, painfully slow, but he can’t move his arm in case he collapses. 

“Jesus,” Niall finally gasps out as Zayn pushes back in again. He can feel it, like he’s being filled up and turned inside out. His skin feels too small, stretched across his bones. He can feel every prickle of sweat that gathers at the back of his neck, on his chest, below his chin. He unclenches his fingers against the mattress, spreading them wide and within seconds Zayn’s fingers fill in the slots, gripping on tight to his hand as he drags himself out. Niall finds his voice again, desperately. “Fuck, faster.”

Zayn makes a noise, a choked off groan that sinks into Niall’s eardrums and echoes through them. 

“You feel fucking amazing,” Zayn says and his voice is far away again, swimmy over Niall’s shoulder. Next time Niall wants to do this face to face so he can see his expression, clock every crinkle in his forehead and every quirk of his lips. “So tight, Niall, fuck so tight. So hot. Fuck, there’s nothing between us.”

Niall groans then. He isn’t sure if it feels any different, the hot press of just Zayn’s skin. The stretch would be the same, the slick, wet feeling between his legs the same if he was wearing a condom but just the confirmation of it makes his gut twist. He squeezes his hand, feels the sweaty stick between the back of his hand and Zayn’s palm and it’s the only thing he can muster before he’s coming, blood pounding in his ears and orgasm pulsing over him again and again, longer than ever before. 

“Fuck,” Zayn swears again and Niall works out that the low groaning noise is actually coming from his own throat. Zayn fucks into him again, Niall isn’t sure how many times before he feels Zayn’s hips stutter against him, pressed in deep against his arse. He groans along with him again, he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to make another noise, and he knows they’re being loud but he can feel Zayn’s skin hot against his own, the slip of sweat between them, the way he squeezes his hand again, incandescently sweet in the blur of shivery aftershocks. 

He’s heavy against his back, pressed up along his spine until he can catch his breath. He rocks to the side and Niall feels every movement, every tremble of his skin as he pulls out. 

“Ugh,” Niall grunts because that’s something he would rather he didn’t experience and then he shivers because he can feel Zayn’s come there, already starting to leak out of him. He feels something brush up against his arse making him jump and works out that it’s Zayn‘s thumb. “Fuck, I can’t tell if that’s gross or really, really good.”

His voice is wrecked and he’s sore, muscles buzzing as though he’s just been through one of Mark’s intensive afternoons. 

“Really good.” Zayn’s voice is gone too and Niall vaguely thinks of the show tomorrow and all the high notes Zayn has to make. “Really fucking good, Christ, that was amazing.”

Niall makes a noise, he’s spent, eyes barely opening. 

He feels Zayn’s nose against him, his lips against his temple. 

“I love -” Zayn cuts into a laugh, like he can’t quite believe it and doesn’t continue. It sits in Niall’s brain like radio static for a moment, part of him trying to muster the energy to pursue him further before Niall feels gentle hands rolling him over to the other side of the bed and it‘s gone. The mattress lifts and there’s the soft sound of the bathroom light cord being pulled. 

He’s asleep before Zayn even comes back to bed. 

 

*

Being back on tour takes them away from each other more. Even though it was only a short break it takes Niall a while to adjust. The warm content feeling of home melts away into something more rushed and Niall’s already starting to miss the unpressured way he and Zayn could spend their time. 

It doesn’t help that there seems to be a hundred extra members of the crew when they get back to Milan. Electricians and riggers and people repainting the stage. There’s metres of leads and camera equipment strung out backstage and Caroline keeps dragging him away to hold shirts under his chin, checking his skin tone out for the cameras. It’s exhausting, tour life speeding up so it feels like he’s got a permanent hangover.

Zayn’s still there, floating bright on the periphery and Niall’s faced with more points in the day where he just wants to crowd Zayn up against the wall to kiss the breath out of him. 

They can’t exactly do that in the middle of a crowded dressing room. (Not that they haven’t tried but that just makes it more frustrating, having Harry walk in on Zayn with his hand down the back of Niall’s boxers or Basil finding them entwined in the back seat of one of their cars parked up behind the arena.)

“We’re beginning to make a habit of this,” Zayn says, voice echoing around the tiny bathroom they’ve found themselves in. Niall can’t say anything where he’s kneeling at his feet--he’s got his mouth full.

They’ve got so little time to themselves that it feels like they’re orbiting around each other, both of them going after what they want. Niall’s not sure if either of them are even getting it.

“Does this ever make you feel lonely?” Zayn asks, voice lost in the vastness of the arena. It’s late, long after they should be back in the hotel. Zayn had taken one of Basil’s bikes off the back of a bus and pedalled in through a gate into the floor area, Niall hanging onto the back of him with his hands on his waist. It felt like an escape, sneaking off from the crowd of people celebrating to get time on their own. A few of the extra crew are dismantling all the cameras, voices echoing from around the stage but other than that it’s completely empty. 

They’ve stopped now, sat on the floor in the middle of the pitch. The stadium stretches out around them and Niall can’t believe an hour and a half ago it was full to the brim of people screaming for them. 

“What?” Niall asks, looking over at him. Zayn’s fiddling with his lighter and ducks his head. It feels like they haven’t talked in forever either, time spent kissing and trying to be quiet on the bus. 

“I think it’s because I have nothing to go home to. There’s nothing waiting for me there anymore,” Zayn says quietly and Niall doesn’t want to talk about this. Not now. 

He hums instead of answering, tipping his head back to look at the sky. It’s just a wall of orange reflection, the light of the stadium obscuring a proper view of the sky.

“Does it not make you feel really small?” Zayn asks instead, shrugging his shoulders. He flicks his lighter once more before pulling out a pouch of tobacco, bright green wrapper cracking from being wrapped up in his back pocket all day. He rolls a cigarette methodically, fingers working steadily and surely. 

“Yeah,” Niall answers. “Sometimes, I think. Like this place is huge.”

Zayn nods but Niall has a feeling that he didn’t answer correctly, that Zayn was asking a different question. It’s cool, the stadium not holding any of the heat of the concert. He pulls his hoody around him tighter and watches as Zayn finishes rolling, tapping on the end gently and twisting on it. 

“I mean,” Zayn sighs, heavy and shakes his head. “I don’t know what I mean.” Niall isn’t sure what to say. There’s a crackle and then the lights shut off, the red and white of their stage powering down surprisingly quickly and the multicoloured test boards of their screens whiting out before going black. “Fuck,” Zayn yelps.

It makes everything seem so much quieter once it’s dark. It’s a clear night and when Niall tips his head back this time, he can see the stars and his own breath in front of his face. 

Zayn feels closer when he glances back at him again, cigarette limp in his hand. He’s staring right at him, mouth open slightly so Niall can see the fullness of his lip. He exhales slowly, breath leaving him in a wisp of cool white. 

Niall’s on edge as Zayn leans in, breath catching but Zayn just picks up his lighter from where it skittered across the floor when the lights went out. He masks his disappointment with a grin. 

Zayn opens his mouth to say something again and Niall’s stomach flips, unsure if he wants to hear what Zayn has to say if it’s going to be so serious. 

“Race you back?” Niall blurts out, voice jittery. He feels jittery too, the darkness making him feel much more vulnerable than usual. 

Zayn snorts quietly, sliding the cigarette behind his ear. Niall’s going to steal it later to warm himself up but he doesn’t think he could reach over and pluck it from his ear with his hands shaking this bad. He jams them under his armpits once he’s on his feet.

“Do you not want to enjoy the stars?” Zayn asks, face tipped back so he catches the light. He looks lovely like this. Niall stares at him for a beat too long. Zayn looks away shyly. “We could talk more.”

Niall’s torn. He’s been wanting to spend all this private time with Zayn but now he’s faced with the reality of it it’s much more scary than he anticipated.

“Nah, mate,” he says after a beat too long, keeping his voice light. “It’s fucking freezing, let’s head back to the bus.”

Zayn’s face is a picture of disappointment when the moonlight catches it and Niall’s stomach sinks. It’s too late though because Zayn stumbles to his feet, stepping back when Niall steps forward to catch him and the moment’s gone. 

*

It loses it’s magic somewhere between Italy and Germany. Niall’s seen the inside of more broom closets and wet room showers in a few short days to last him a lifetime. It just always leaves him wanting more, this burning pit of yearning in his belly that’s never fully satisfied when he passes out at the end of the day, bone tired. 

“Fucking finally,” Zayn groans once he’s got Niall bundled into one of their hotel rooms. Niall can’t remember which one belonged to him originally, it doesn’t really matter because Zayn’s living out of his suitcase now anyway. “Didn’t think I’d get you alone all day,” Zayn mutters, lips already latching onto the sensitive skin at Niall’s neck. 

They’re soaked, the rain pelting down on them on stage and then on the way back to the hotel. They had changed, Niall into a soft t-shirt that he thinks is Zayn’s but it’s wringing just after the run from the bus to the hotel. 

“Should’ve stayed in the bus,” Niall groans, spreading out across the bed. He can feel the covers getting damp below them but he doesn’t care, he just wants Zayn on him now. 

“Want to hear you,” Zayn tells him, nosing down to his collar. He drags his t-shirt up his stomach, goosebumps erupting across his stomach because it’s freezing out of the rain. “Make you moan.” 

Niall complies, moaning at the drop of a hat because it feels like he hasn’t seen Zayn in days, Ben dragging them off for extra clips for the film at any spare moment and quick kisses between late night recording sessions. Niall’s supposed to be recording his lifts for the new single tonight, whatever time Jamie gets round to knocking on his door. 

Zayn bites at his belly, making him tense up. His hair is soaking, trailing wetly against the skin stretched across Niall’s ribs and it makes him shiver. 

“Get you out of these,” he sighs, sitting up and stripping out of his shirt. It falls against the beside table with a wet slap. Zayn laughs roughly and pulls his clothes off to join them. 

“You want to get fucked?” Zayn asks but he isn’t really asking, Niall can hear the hurried obligation behind it, like he’s just asking because he should. It hollows Niall out, scoops some of the fun out of it that it’s already dropped down to a rote practise just a few days in. That they can’t take the time to make each other feel good but Niall understands it, that they both selfishly just want to get off, that they both need to be with each other _now_. 

Zayn doesn’t even wait for a proper answer before he starts kissing down Niall’s belly and pulling at his wet jeans. It takes a minute of Zayn’s fumbled tugging before he gets the fly open and the wet denim pulled down enough to free Niall’s dick. He’s hard, still hyped up from the show and the buzz of being close to Zayn, dick filling up just being close to him now that it’s an established _thing_. 

Zayn nuzzles up against him, tongue lolling out to lick at him before he pulls away to undo his own flies. Niall watches him, already panting a bit. It takes him a moment to work out what he’s doing as Zayn kicks out of his jeans and pulls off his socks. Niall heaves a breath, he doesn’t even have his shoes off. 

“What’re you -” Niall asks as Zayn climbs onto the bed, rolling onto his side and bringing one of Niall’s knees with him. “Oh,” he breathes once he’s met with Zayn’s groin beside his head. He rolls over, flicking at the heel of one of his trainers with his toe to get them off because Zayn obviously doesn’t have the patience to wait until they’re both completely naked. 

“Come on,” Zayn says, tapping at his hip to urge him onto his side and Niall huffs a laugh, lifting a hand to circle around the base of Zayn’s dick more so it doesn‘t poke him in the eye than anything. 

“How equal opportunity of you,” Niall comments but the snarkiness is lost as Zayn sinks his mouth down on Niall’s dick. He’s hot, tongue flicking dangerously over the head of his cock as he sucks him to full hardness. Niall gasps a breath, pants a bit before Zayn taps at his thigh, an unspoken gesture to make him get a move on. Niall mouths at Zayn’s dick, curving onto his side. He’s conscious of maybe kneeing Zayn in the head somehow but once he finally gets his shoe off, flinging it into the corner he relaxes a bit more, knee pulling up onto the mattress so he can blow Zayn properly. 

It doesn’t take very long, Zayn’s thigh trembling under Niall’s palm and his hip jerking his dick into Niall’s mouth, making Niall choke a bit. He coughs, slurps up some of the wet he’s dribbling over his chin and tries to breathe through the roiling heat gathering in the pit of his belly. He rolls his hips, feels Zayn dig his thumb into the skin at his sides and he madly hopes he has a bruise there in the morning before he comes right into the hot suction of Zayn’s throat. 

The noise he makes around Zayn’s dick isn’t very dignified but at least he didn’t bite it off. 

He gathers himself, shivers at the aftershock rolling up his spine and twists his hand around Zayn’s dick, licks at the slit before he feels him tensing, stomach muscles clenching as he spills into Niall’s mouth. 

“Good,” Zayn says, patting at Niall’s knee. Niall nods, rolling onto his back with a sigh as he tries to regulate his breathing. Zayn wraps his hand around his ankle, a warm and welcomed weight against his skin and they lie there in the quiet, waiting until Niall has to go. 

Niall tries not to think of it as awkward but he can’t relax, the muscles at the back of his thighs tense. It’s so different to the fun they were having at his house. Niall feels a bit selfish, he wants all of Zayn’s attention on him.

A knock at the door saves him from having to say something.

“See you later,” Niall says, pulling a t-shirt roughly over his head. Zayn smiles sleepily at him, leaning up to let Niall kiss him, a smear of his lips against the corner of Zayn’s mouth. 

“Don’t steal too many verses,” Zayn babbles quietly, tucking himself into the duvet. His back is a long smooth line and Niall wants to curl up against it, not go into the sweaty makeshift studio they’ve made themselves in one of the hotel rooms down the hall but another knock to the door makes him move, only hesitating briefly by the door before he heads to the booth.

By the time they make it to Spain they’re hardly being subtle about it at all, evidence of their frantic sex life littered over their bodies.

“Like dogs in heat,” Louis comments idly one afternoon. He pushes his thumb against a bruise on Niall’s jaw and it throbs dully. Niall tries to jerk away but Zayn’s got an arm around him, making it easy for him to laugh into Niall’s neck before he pulls away. Niall wishes his grin would come as easy as Zayn’s. He’s embarrassed, half-preparing himself for an afternoon of Louis taking the piss, but Zayn looks relaxed, reclined in the chair at the table where they just ate lunch. 

Niall picks nervously at his football shorts. He assumes they all know that at least _something_ has been going on, they haven’t been keeping it a secret but they haven’t exactly sat them down and told them all about it either. It’s hard to do that when Niall isn’t sure himself. 

“You giving him tips on picking people up, Niall?” Louis asks. “Teaching him how you can pull and not have anyone blab about it the next day?”

Niall ignores him, blush creeping up his neck. Louis probably means it as a compliment but it’s lost in his tone. 

“You guys need to share the love,” Louis says. “Have you been going on the pull without me?”

Louis wiggles his eyebrows and it’s then that Niall knows he’s got the wrong end of the stick. 

“Look at the pair of you, all bloody relaxed like you’re in some competition to see who can get the most ass.” Louis laughs brightly. “Niall, I bet you’ve got it all in a spreadsheet.”

Niall opens his mouth to correct him but Zayn beats him to it.

“Just because you’re already pining away for El.” Zayn shrugs. Louis snorts and sticks his thumb into a tangerine. 

“True, I’d love a convenient in-tour girlfriend,” Louis says and pops a piece of orange into his mouth. “You should just cut out the middle man and start fucking each other.” 

Niall frowns up at him, cheeks growing red. 

“Fuck off,” Niall tells him. He picks up a cold chip off his plate and throws it across the table at him. “Why am I the girl?” 

Louis just gives him a look, one that makes Niall go hot and clammy, even though he knows it‘s a joke. He glances over at Zayn to see him laugh, to get some backup, to gauge his reaction, but his stomach drops at Zayn’s sudden closed-off expression. 

“Take it as a compliment, Niall,” Louis says. “Zayn gets all the good girls now.” Louis laughs. “It’s just nice to see Zayn back in the game. Gotta keep up a reputation when you’re single, Zayner. I respect that.”

Zayn leans back in his chair again. He’s not that far away, his leg still propped up on the table beside Niall’s elbow, but it feels like miles. Niall isn’t sure if he can school his face into a neutral expression. He hadn’t really thought of Zayn maybe being with anyone else. He isn’t sure how he’s found the time but there’s something in his head that’s making his brain whir. 

“Speaking of,” Louis keeps on, seemingly oblivious to the wall of tension that Zayn’s just brought down between them. “I seen that covert flirting with those girls backstage today. I hope you got their number. You dirty dog.”

Louis laughs to himself and swallows a piece of orange. Niall watches him, just so he has something to focus on instead of how Zayn is inching away from him. Zayn’s eyes flick up and away again before Niall can get a grip of what he’s thinking. 

“See you later,” Louis announces, dropping his orange peel and scraping his chair back. Disappearing as quickly as he had appeared.

Niall gives him a half-wave, going back to fidgeting with the embroidered insignia of the Barcelona crest. He doesn’t want to dwell on the possibility of Zayn still getting with other people.

“Why don’t we just tell them what’s really going on?” Niall asks quietly when he’s sure no one’s listening in. Zayn leans forward, one elbow against the rubber table cloth. He shrugs, face impassive. 

“What is there to tell?” Zayn asks. 

Niall looks up at him, holds his gaze. That’s the million pound question, what is this thing between them? He could push the issue but he’s terrified of what the answer could be.

“Nothing,” Niall finds himself mumbling. He wishes Zayn would speak to him when he gets like this, face controlled and too quiet for Niall to work out. “I suppose.”

Zayn shrugs again and reaches for the other orange. 

*

“You wanna come out today?” Niall asks, pulling up his sock and tucking the hem of his trousers over it. Harry had gotten them free the other day and chucked Niall a pair, they’re not as nice as the ones he got in New York but Niall’s left them at home. 

It’s one of the more frustrating things about being on tour - living out of a suitcase for weeks on end. 

Zayn makes a noise but doesn’t move, he’s a lump in the bed, covers pulled right up over his head. 

“Come on,” Niall cajoles and pulls on a t-shirt. “It’ll be fun. You can drive the golf cart!” 

Zayn’s left leg pulls up and he rolls to the side but he doesn’t make a move to get up. Niall hovers over him, long enough for the muscles at the small of his back to start to twinge. 

“We can have lunch, hey I bet there’s a sauna. It’ll be like that time we went to that sweat room and you looked sunburnt you went that red.”

Zayn doesn’t move, not even when Niall catapults himself onto the bed, a leg either side of Zayn’s hips. 

“Come on, Zaynie,” Niall teases and drags the quilt down to expose Zayn’s face. He squeezes his eyes shut. 

“Sleeping, Niall,” Zayn reminds him and Niall grins, wriggles a bit so he can fit under the covers with him. 

“I’ll buy ya lunch,” Niall singsongs, wrenching the sheets over them both again. It’s dim underneath them, but not that bad that he can’t see the thin lines of Zayn’s mouth and the bleary shine of his eyes when he blinks them open. Niall beams at him.

“Treat ya right,” Niall keeps going. The skin of Zayn’s waist is hot from being buried underneath the covers all morning. It’s nice when Niall rubs his thumb over it. 

“You could treat me right, right here,” Zayn responds quietly, lifting an arm to drag Niall closer. 

“How about after a round of golf?” Niall asks. He’s growing bored of the monotony of tour. He needs air that hasn’t been recycled through the steel tubes of a stadium or tinged by pyrotechnics. Niall can feel his muscles winding up, a crank, crank, crank of his nerves tensing up inside him and if he doesn’t get out and _do_ something he’s going to snap. He knows that Liam hits the gym when it’s like this, that Harry goes and does some of his fancy breathing exercises but he’s starting to realise that maybe Zayn just does this; lies in bed until the tension seeps out of him. 

Niall would join him, he likes his quiet time just as much as the rest of them but he knows that it won’t solve anything. They’d probably nap and get each other off but it would feel trite, like maybe they were only doing it because they’re already in bed together and it wouldn’t stem the energy bubbling under Niall’s skin. 

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Niall insists and Zayn groans. 

“Are we attached at the hip?” Zayn asks flatly. He burrows further into the duvet. “I’ll see you later.” 

Niall sits back at that, watches as he snuffles into the pillow. He can feel his buzz wilt into a foul mood.

“Ok,” Niall says tightly when Zayn’s obviously stopped playing along with him. “See you later.”

Golfing gets him out of his head for a bit, the sun blasting down on them. At first makes him think of Zayn lying back in bed, sun-blushed and sleepy but he quickly turns his focus on the green.

“Your head somewhere else?” Harry asks, hair coiffed up in a ridiculous roll of frizzy hair. Niall shrugs, wields his wood.

“Thought it would help,” Niall admits, watching as his club cuts through the air. Harry throws a golf ball into the air. “Getting away from it a bit.”

Harry surveys him for a moment. “Zayn?” 

Niall glances up at him, squints through the sun and then nods. “I think it’s just taking a bit of getting used to, being on tour and all that. We’re, um, we’re -” Well he’s not sure what they are. They’re NiallandZayn but Niall’s not sure what that means outside his own personal definition. He’s not even sure if Zayn knows.

Harry nods, “Yeah, you’re fucking. I get it.” And finally steps up to the tee - golfing with Harry takes about three hours longer than it usually would. 

“You do?” Niall asks quietly. 

Harry grins at him. “You’re not as quiet as you think.”

Niall wants to bury his face in his hands but he keeps Harry’s gaze. It’s hard to be properly embarrassed in front of him. “Louis seems to think we’re fucking groupies. Like separately.”

Harry laughs. “Louis can be a moron sometimes. It’s pretty obvious what’s going on.”

The words feel like they’re lodged in his throat but Harry looks at him calmly, face open and unjudging and it all spills out of him. 

“Maybe it’s just because it’s new,” Niall confesses. He kicks at a golf ball and watches as it rolls across the green. “Like it’s really, really good but sometimes it feels, like, there’s a block between us now that we’re back on the road.” Niall cuts off. He swallows and glances down the greenway. “Like it’s just a quick fuck to make Zayn stop feeling sad or because we finally have a whole five minutes alone. I don’t want that. I want to go back to that can’t-stop-touching-each-other bit at home, messing about in the kitchen and then some fuck hot sex.”

Harry pulls another face and Niall has to smile. “Was that too much information?”

“Hopefully I’ll get over it,” Harry reassures him. “Just say to him, it’s just Zayn.”

Niall frowns. “What if that’s the problem? That it’s just Zayn.” 

Harry scrutinises him for a moment before turning back to the tee. “Say to him. And it will all slot into place.” Harry says optimistically over his shoulder, lining up his feet.

“Tell him what?” Niall asks just as Harry takes his swing. The ball goes a bit skew whiff but Harry doesn’t look bothered.

“Tell him that you think he’s really pretty and that he’s really good in bed and that you want to pick flowers from a meadow to place behind his ear,” Harry jokes. He glances up at Niall and rolls his eyes. “You’re so rubbish at this. Tell him you love him you plonker. Tell him you want lovey dovey, emotionally intense sex and then go have some.”

Niall takes a deep breath. It should panic him, the realisation that he’s in love with Zayn. Harry narrows his eyes and Niall thinks he knows what he’s thinking so he paints a smile on his face and nods.

“Easy as that, eh?” he asks and steps up to take his shot, trying all the while to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach. He’s not good with dealing with this. He never knows what to say and he can’t help getting tongue tied.

Zayn’s up when he gets back to the hotel, hair wet from a shower. The bed is still unmade so Niall assumes he’s slept all afternoon, sun creeping across the room through the open window. 

It’s warm in the room and Niall’s sweaty from being out all day so he strips off his shirt and kicks off his shoes as soon as he’s over the threshold. He feels slightly sick, heart pounding in his chest.

“We could get you right back in that shower, if you’re up for it,” Niall announces his presence when he sees Zayn sitting at the bottom of the bed. He wants to take the words back because if this is supposed to be A Moment then he’s already ruining it.

Zayn hesitates, hands not quite touching Niall’s skin properly when Niall leans in for a kiss, second nature now but his stiltedness makes Niall rear his head back, eyes widening. 

“What is it?” Niall asks and he’s conscious of the goose bumps rising up over his shoulders and down his back. He was with Harry the whole way back to the hotel--there’s no way he could’ve told him what they talked about.

“I -” Zayn starts and then his lips close into a thin line. Niall stares at them for a moment before flicking them up to catch his eyes. There’s a drip of water rolling down from Zayn’s hair, wilted with the weight of the water. 

“I don’t want this just to be a convenience thing,” Zayn says quietly and Niall’s stomach swoops so quickly, he’s convinced it’s not there anymore. 

“What the fuck does that mean?” Niall demands and takes a step back, Zayn’s fingertips brushing at his side, just above his hips. For the first in a long time Niall wishes he was wearing more clothes around Zayn and he can’t help cross a hand over his stomach. 

Zayn runs his fingers through his hair and it sticks up in three damp spikes at the top of his head. 

“I don’t want to be blunt but -” Zayn starts and Niall snorts. 

“Bit late with that one,” he mutters and Zayn’s eyes flash. 

“I don’t do this anymore,” Zayn explains and waves his hand between them. The space between them is wider now and Niall isn’t sure which one of them is stepping further away until the soft quilt cover brushes against the back of his knees. 

“Do what?” Niall asks but he doesn’t mean it, not really needing Zayn to elaborate on what he means by _this_. Zayn’s bored already and they’ve hardly just begun. Niall’s throat burns. He’s just spent most of the afternoon working up the courage to tell him he wants something more. He’s not sure he can keep looking at Zayn while he speaks. 

“I can’t -” Zayn starts again and he pulls a face, one that’s normally reserved for boring business meetings where Zayn’s given a stringent list of things he can and can’t do on twitter and Niall’s asked half-jokingly not to upload so many photos of his living room. “I can’t do this half-assed thing. I get that you don’t do commitment or serious or whatever but I’m not having this turn into something you do when you’re bored or hyped up after a show and can’t be bothered to go out and find someone to fuck.”

Niall’s throat is burning, but for a completely different reason and Zayn seems to realise that he’s put his foot into it when Niall looks up again. There’s a tiny part of him that knows they could sort this out calmly. Niall could smile and say that he doesn’t want that either and they’d ride off into the sunset together but a bigger part of him finally snaps.

“I don’t do serious?” Niall asks him and even he can hear the dangerous undertone to his voice. “ _I_ don’t do commitment.”

“Niall,” Zayn starts but Niall shakes his head. The boys always breeze past Niall when he‘s in a mood so if Niall wants to be heard, he normally has to shout. He can feel words clogging at the back of his throat, all bursting to come out of his mouth. Zayn gives him a withering look and he can’t help himself.

“What the fuck would you know about what I do and don’t do?” Niall demands and he’s on his feet again, energy buzzing through him, body pulsing with every elevated beat of his heart. “You’ve hardly paid attention to me for the past lot of months to know whether I do serious or not. Just because I don’t go out and hunt for a girlfriend or a boyfriend or whatever the fuck doesn’t mean I can’t do serious. That I don’t _want_ serious? What if I just don’t want anything more from those people? What if I only want that with you?”

Zayn looks stunned and Niall’s breathing hard, short sucks of breath that whoosh through his ears with the pounding of his heart. 

“Why is it only now, when it’s _convenient_ for you, do you come crawling into _my_ bed?” Niall asks and it comes out far quieter than he means. It’s not the scathing remark he had imagined in his head, it’s softer, contrasting with Niall’s hot temper. Zayn’s eyes widen.

He concentrates on pulling air through his nose and holding it for a second before pushing it out for three. It’s out there, Niall’s big secret that was festering in the back of his mind for the past few weeks.

“Why didn’t you ever say?” Zayn asks and there’s an edge of frustration to his tone. Niall hasn’t fully decided if Zayn’s allowed to be frustrated in this situation so he keeps his mouth closed. “God, Niall, why didn’t you ever pull me aside and be serious for a moment instead of fucking messing about all the time.”

“Oh fuck off, Zayn,” Niall snaps. He’s not going to let Zayn know that’s _just_ what he was about to do. “Not everyone wants to chit chat about their feelings all the time. And you didn’t exactly say much about it either.”

Zayn gets this hard look on his face but doesn’t say anything. “Not for lack of trying.”

Niall wants to be the one to storm off, leave the conversation at that so he can have the last word but he can nearly feel the adrenaline draining out of him so he sits back down on the bed, silk soft at the back of his legs. 

“And mates are supposed to make the best couples,” Zayn mutters, voice flat. 

Niall doesn’t say anything, bites his tongue before he says something he’ll really regret. He stares at the TV stand, shiny and black in the glinting sunlight as Zayn huffs about the room, finding his shoes. It’s not until Zayn’s leaving without saying anything at all does Niall let the breath whoosh out of him. 

*

Zayn gives him a long look before he walks over to the other bus. Three long strides before he’s back at the door. Niall watches him, waits until he looks over his shoulder before he looks away. He knows Zayn caught him but he’s past caring now. It’s all very cat and mouse.

“All this negativity over nothing,” Harry says and adopts his wise-yoda-pose. Niall tries to ignore him but Harry leans to the side, makes sure that he’s in Niall’s eyeline. “Come on, we’ll go into this one.”

Harry holds out an arm and Niall follows him onto the second bus. When he dumps his bag into his bunk he can see Zayn’s hoody sticking out from underneath the covers, the funny slippers he bought Niall at a rest stop in Denmark, the boot shaped magnet he got them in Italy to hold up the little doodle comic strip Zayn had drawn while he was on the phone to his sister. It’s so familiar that it knocks Niall for a moment, he grips the side of his bunk as he stares down at the little cartoon version of Zayn holding onto cartoon Niall’s hand and it’s hard to believe that that isn’t how they had always been, making their avoidance even more unsettling.

“I just want you to be happy, Niall,” Harry says, leaning against the humming fridge. His face turns down and Niall nods to himself, pushing past him to the empty back of the bus. Harry makes another frowny face as he follows him, flopping down on the sofa before finally contorting his body enough that Niall can cuddle in. 

“I am,” Niall lies, voice slightly muffled by Harry‘s shoulder. “I’m having the time of my life, aren’t I?” 

“You sure look it,” Harry agrees, one hand coming up to pinch at Niall’s cheeks. He tries to dodge it, eyes screwed tight but it’s only a half-assed attempt and it stings anyway. 

“You heartbroken then?” Harry asks conversationally and Niall hates him for it. Why can’t he let him wallow on his own? “Are you going to make the children pick sides?”

Niall closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to roll them. 

“Go annoy Daddy,” Niall mutters. Harry laughs brightly and Niall’s sure that he’s going to roll away from him at any moment but Harry doesn’t. NIall feels Harry’s arm curl around him to pull him into a proper hug. 

“It’s ok,” Harry whispers. “He’ll come out of his funk soon enough.”

Niall nods. He wishes it were as easy as just believing everything Harry said. He wants it to be true, he’d love it if Zayn walked in through the door right now and said _‘fuck it’_. But he doesn’t think it’s as easy as that. 

“I can’t believe you just said _funk_.“

Harry laughs against the side of his face, pushes his lips out so he can kiss the side of his temple and Niall relaxes against it. 

*

It seems like the entire crew is crammed into Harry’s hotel room. Someone’s made a crude attempt at setting the mood by throwing one of Harry’s more garish scarves over the lamp by the door so the whole living area is bathed in dim, reddish light. There’s music filtering through speakers over near the bed area but it’s too packed to hear what it is, loud with laughter and excited-to-be-going home chatter.

The show was amazing, Niall still feels the urge to pinch himself that he’s just finished another leg of one of the biggest tours around the world. Someone passes him a drink, something that doesn’t look quite safe to consume but it smells vaguely alright so he gulps at it without tasting until it’s gone. The group around him roars with approval and Niall grins, lets his smile do the talking. 

It gurgles in his stomach, frothy beer meeting the caustic rum and vodka, mixing up into a Niall cocktail. He can feel it sitting in his chest, like it’s going to explode out of him one hiccup at a time. He excuses himself from the little circle of people huddled around the coffee table and makes his way towards the bathroom, stomach lurching every other step. He has to push past a few people, grinning at some of the Sparks who’ve just came back from taking down the rigging and he shoulders a few pats on the back from some of security with ease. 

Harry’s standing up on a table in the kitchen area, the suite expanding out before him with a bottle of fizz in one hand and a hollowed out pineapple in the other. He’s laughing down at someone in the crowd, the rest of the people egging him on to do something. Niall pushes past them, smiling at the thought of the room service bill Harry’ll be getting in the morning. 

Thankfully there’s no one in the bathroom, Harry’s things strewn about the counter. Niall hunches over the sink, letting his eyes close as the room spins around him a bit. He can’t face looking at his reflection so he stares at the plughole, a drip of water hanging on the chrome edge of it. He doesn’t want to have to stand on his head and drink water; he’ll probably lose an eye. 

He feels a hand close round the back of his neck before he hears the voice. 

“You alright?” Zayn asks him but Niall’s already jumped a foot in the air, spine arching away from his touch and stomach lodging somewhere in his throat. 

“Fuck,” Niall yelps and then clenches his fingers into the porcelain of the sink. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry,” Zayn says, smile slow to match his voice. He sets his drink down on the counter beside Harry’s frayed toothbrush and it’s the same colour as the concoction he had been passed by the coffee table, like there’s a bowl of punch percolating. 

Niall realises belatedly that his hiccups have gone. Zayn breathes against him before he leans down the final inch, pressing forward into Niall’s lips so there’s no space between them. 

Niall kisses him back just as eagerly, turning it dirty with a sweep of his tongue and a hand to Zayn’s hip. He steps back, Zayn walking with him until Zayn can kick the bathroom door properly shut, muffling the party behind it. 

They aren’t very coordinated, Niall’s back brushing up against the sink counter, Harry’s toiletries scattering as he leans heavily against it, Zayn grinding helplessly up against his front.

“We should -” Niall starts but Zayn kisses him again, steals the breath right out of his mouth. It was half-hearted anyway, Niall’s solitary protest that they should maybe talk about it before they get right back into whatever they’re doing with each other. 

“Missed you,” Zayn breathes into his ear, a hand smoothing down Niall’s side to rest against his hip. He rubs his thumb against the skin there, making Niall feel blazing hot. 

It’s barely been a day and they’ve spent most of that time together anyway, avoiding each other in the small twenty metre radius they can muster while on stage but the sentiment’s nice, it makes Niall’s insides bubble along nicely as Zayn kisses up his jaw to his mouth again. 

Niall wants to tear off his clothes and go down on his knees or fist his hand in Zayn’s hair while he goes to his but they’re in the middle of a bathroom at a party and Niall’s vaguely aware of the din on the other side of the door. 

“We should go,” Niall tells him, dodging his kiss reluctantly. Zayn stares at him, eyes wide and glittery. Niall inhales a breath, soaking in the orange body wash he uses and the faint smell of the pyrotechnic smoke from the show. 

“Back to mine?” Zayn asks, shoulders shaking as he inhales. He’s still got a thumb to Niall’s hip and Niall tries to steady his feet against the tiled floor. Someone outside turns the music up, voices singing along, a thump on the door. Niall’s mad to be missing it. 

“Back to the party,” Niall answers him, watching for the flicker of disappointment in Zayn’s face. He doesn’t see it, Zayn’s poker face is impeccable even when he’s drunk and turned on. 

“Ok,” he answers easily, thumb pressing in again as a gentle reminder what Niall’s going to be missing. He grins in spite of himself, blood still pooling south. 

“To be continued, though,” Niall promises, reaching up for another consolatory kiss. Zayn surveys him under hazy eyes before he concedes, meeting him halfway in a chaste kiss that burns more than the others. 

When they unsnick the lock on the door they find a queue of people, none of whom look remotely surprised when Niall trails out of the bathroom after Zayn.

*

Porto is ablaze in the sun when Niall finally manages to make it out of his hotel room, suitcases lugging behind him, hastily packed. 

Paul gives him a look when he climbs onto the bus and Niall just smiles blandly back at him, he can’t really talk - Paul was one of the last to leave the party too. 

Harry’s lying at the back, wet flannel over his face and his hair a sticky mess at the top of his head. Niall has a murky flashback to doing tequila shots off his chest. Zayn had dared him to do it, trailing salt up his index finger for Niall to suck off. 

“Morning,” Niall greets him, dropping his bag for the plane into the empty seat at his feet and climbing up beside him. “You not even manage a shower?” 

“Did you see the state of my room?” Harry asks from below the flannel, voice gone very quiet. “I’m lucky I made it out of there alive.”

Niall grins and plays along with the fact that they’re obviously ignoring how Harry ended up curled asleep in Paddy’s room, Liam tucked up behind him. 

Speaking of - “Where’s Liam?” Niall asks, masking a yawn behind his hand. He reaches down to pat at Harry’s head and then pulls it back, his hair is even worse than it looks. 

“Got the early flight with Zayn,” Harry mumbles. Niall freezes. “They’re mad men, how do they do it?”

Niall shrugs, even though Harry can’t see it and descends into his own hangover to wallow. He had imagined that Zayn would be on the bus when he got there, packed and ready to go, annoyingly fresh-looking for someone who matched him drink for drink last night until they were both sinking to the ground, giggling into each other’s necks. Obviously not. 

Harry bats at his knee, hand all fumbly knuckles. Niall pretends that Harry knows what he’s on about. 

The flight’s delayed, just to piss him off, so he’s forced to listen to an extra three hours of Harry whining about how hungover he is until he passes out in his chair on the plane, mouth open and a perfect target for Lou and Niall to pass the time by throwing little rolled up pieces of paper into. He only chokes once, 23,000 feet above the English Channel.

Willie doesn’t say anything the whole way home and Niall knows his face must look like thunder. He eases the car to a stop and when Niall glances up he can see the gate to the driveway already ajar. 

“Fuck sake,” Niall huffs. “Is my Ma here already?” 

Willie shrugs, already clicking his phone open as he waits for the garage door to close behind them. It makes Niall itch but he knows it’s just because he’s already pissed off and slamming the door to the car closed only makes him feel a little bit better. 

He bypasses the kitchen because if his mum wants to come see him she can go looking for him. He feels a bit guilty at that but he needs a bit of time to get himself out of his mood before he can do any homecoming greetings. The door to his room is open and he surmises that his mum has already been in to make his bed and do his laundry and have a snoop around under his bed so he drops his bag outside the door and makes a beeline for the second living room. 

There’s a lump of blanketed person in the middle of the sofa, DM boots sticking out from underneath the fuzzy throw Willie found somewhere, the one that makes Niall sneeze most of the time. Niall pauses by the doorway. He already knows who it is but there’s a part of him that wants to check, make sure that he isn’t hoping so hard that he’s hallucinating. 

“What took you so long?” Zayn grumbles when Niall pulls away the corner of the blanket. There’s a piece of yellow fuzz stuck to his stubble and it makes him look even softer, all bleary with sleep. 

“Flight was delayed,” Niall murmurs, already toeing out of his shoes. His mood has lifted completely, buoyed up at seeing him here waiting for him. “You came here?”

“I realised as soon as I got on the flight,” Zayn says quietly, blinking his eyes open slowly to meet Niall’s. He still looks half asleep but Niall thinks he’s perfect. “I thought maybe I should’ve said to you where I was going, that you’d be wondering where I was when you woke up.”

Niall nods, voice tangled in the knots of his stomach. He’s not sure what to think but he can’t help hoping that Zayn’s here to make amends.

Zayn blinks at him. “I wanted to go back, I shouldn’t have left without you in the first place. Louis laughed at me, said I was thinking too much like a proper boyfriend.” Zayn takes a breath and Niall realises he hasn’t been breathing at all. He copies him. 

“I think he was right,” Zayn whispers cryptically, eyes boring into Niall’s. 

“You have such a romantic way with words.“ Niall says after a beat, fighting hard to keep his face straight. He’s got his confirmation. Zayn rolls his eyes, flinging the blanket off his chest so he can make space for Niall. “Just spit it out.”

“Always ruining a moment, aren‘t you?” Zayn asks as Niall folds himself into the space beside him. The sofa‘s warm where he‘s been lying all afternoon and Niall fleetingly questions how long he‘s been making himself at home. 

“Are you asking me to go steady, Zayn?” Niall asks, finally letting his laughter colour his tone.

“Fuck off,” Zayn groans, closing his eyes again. “Do you realise how hungover I am? Words are hard right now.” 

“I expect a fully compos mentis proposal later,” Niall warns, wriggling about so he can be proper little spoon. Zayn’s arm circles around his waist, pulling him back into the heat of Zayn’s chest. 

“Like you know what compos mentis means,” Zayn mutters, lips brushing against the nape of Niall’s neck. 

“You make me compos mentis,” Niall grins, squeezing Zayn’s wrist and thrusting suggestively into the side of his hand. He isn’t making sense but he doesn’t care, he’s grinning too hard not to act silly. Zayn huffs a quiet laugh against his skin. 

“Well, I suppose, that’s what boyfriends are for.”

Niall’s breath hitches and he wants to laugh but he doesn’t, instead he turns his head and twists his body until he can see Zayn properly. 

“Boyfriend, eh?” Niall asks quietly and Zayn’s face folds into a grin, eyes crinkling up. Niall can see the beginnings of a blush.

“Just give me a kiss,” Zayn demands and Niall’s only happy to oblige.


End file.
